


On the Wings of Ravens

by ObsidianMichi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 83,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2890520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianMichi/pseuds/ObsidianMichi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plagued by guilt-ridden nightmares, Lavellan disappears to try to clear her head. When she meets a mysterious Inquisition scout, a Dalish elf named Harel, Eirwen learns more about the past than she ever expected and Solas finds his own plans in danger of veering wildly off course. (May leap off cliffs to escape canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ravens Have Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything in this fic, not even the slight alterations and additions I made to the lore. Not even my Lavellan. I just put words in a row. **Warning:** Mild eye gore if you're squeamish.

Solas stood in a clearing. Hazy fog drifting before his eyes. He felt his fingers as they tightened into a balled fist and pressed to his thigh, cold in the early morning air. This would be easier if he held himself loose and aloof, yet the shape of this dream drove itself toward the uncomfortable. He drew in a slow breath, inhaling thick moisture that lingered in his lungs.

Shadows played on the edges of the grove, dancing between sparks of green and black. Embrium, elfroot, tall thorny bushes he failed to recognize slithered up between the wide trunks of oak trees. Beyond the grass, Solas saw hills rolling upward and carrying the whole of an ancient forest on their backs. Old trees, tall and wide, with thick branches shadowing the world beneath their weight.

Next to him, stood the tall statue of a wolf. His wolf. The same as the one which protected the Inquisitor’s camp in the waking world.

This was where he had fallen asleep in the Emerald Graves, packed inside a warm tent and watched carefully by guards. But it was also not the same place, or the same time, as the one he had left.

_A dream? A memory?_

Solas was not sure. It could be neither. It could be both. Or, he paused, this might be the same dream blocking him from reaching deeper into the Fade. One that had haunted him since Wisdom’s death in the Exalted Plains.

A figure stepped out of the trees. A slim hand drifting across the bark of the trees, clad in battle worn leather gloves and leather greaves. Greenish light glinted off the silver griffon pauldron on the left shoulder and the silverite maille woven over turquoise fabric. It caught in orange hair, shades highlighting the deep cut, jagged scar over a blue eye. A pair of orange eyebrows lifted wryly to reveal a smiling face.

The Inquisitor.

His heart jumped.

_Eirwen._

It always did.

She approached him. A devilish smile playing on her mouth as bare feet pressed delicately on dewy spring grass with each step. She moved lightly, hips swaying from side to side, hands tucking behind her back. Those blue eyes—the warm color of a sky in summer—sparkled in the Fade's pale green light, a simulated dawn.

Solas saw the Inquisitor often in his dreams. They were, of course, only dreams.

This was only a dream.

His not hers.

Solas swallowed, watching the figment’s widening smile. A perfect imitation of the living flesh. True, perhaps, in all facets except one: it was too dim.

Eirwen, the real Eirwen, was not here.

They had shared a dream only once. While that single instance had been stimulating, arousing, and surprising in ways both sexual and intellectual, he had done his best since then to ensure that once would be the last. He might have walked in her dreams. He certainly lingered at their edges. The way a parched man watched an ocean, full with the knowledge he saw water and nothing in it could quench his thirst.

In moments of dishonesty, Solas convinced himself those captured moments were for the benefit of their companions. After Haven, their Herald had developed a disturbing habit of slipping away to find her own private moments of solitude. Honesty, real honesty, came more rarely. She still visited, sometimes. When she did he taught her swear words in the ancient tongue of the elvhen and listened to him tell her stories about his travels in the Fade.

Then, Eirwen left.

Each time she turned her back, he almost called out to her. Ready to say that this distraction needed to end.

His courage failing when he saw her goodbye smile and heard the promise of tomorrow.

Some shift had happened in him after Wisdom’s death. Some deep need clawing its way up out of the darkest reaches of his soul, hot and burning inside his heart. Gratitude boiled within him, his eyes following her wherever she went. A desire to be in her presence, not just every now and then but always. More and more, she had crept into his thoughts. He found her in all the places where she should not be. Could not be.

The feel of her left hand turning him to her, the buzz as her lips pressed to his, the soft brush of warm breath tickling his skin as her mouth opened in a soft sigh, his hands on her waist, her arms around his neck, inhaling perfumes of lavender and recently turned earth.

A pleasant daydream, he’d thought, now all too real.

A jaunty lopsided smile tugged across Eirwen’s lips. The smugly guarded sign of a secret clutched carefully in her palm. Eirwen Lavellan at her most devilish. An early warning bell. He must also be at his best.

His eyes caught, as they always did, on the vallaslin.

Dirthamen’s.

She dedicated herself to the Lord of Secrets. It was not a surprising choice for a First, a future Keeper. If her course had not been altered by the Conclave, Eirwen would have one day become a keeper of all her Clan’s wisdom and knowledge. A patchwork of misremembered legends and blatant lies to be sure, but a guardian none the less.

They were well-chosen, flattering. The blue slightly darker than her eyes, lightening them and highlighting them. The color failed to clash with her fair, if slightly weather beaten, skin. Clean and pale without a hint of freckles. Long lines lead down her brow to her nose, the curving feet drawing the eye to her sharp cheekbones, full cheeks, and pouty red lips.

In the beginning, her round visage and thin frame had left him confused. Due to her youthful appearance, genuine eagerness, and lack of knowledge, he had mistaken her for a child. All the so called elves of this time were children to him. Willful. Ignorant. Stubborn in the way they clung to the lies. Eirwen approached the world with an inquisitive and child-like wonder, she respected the past legends she’d been taught and struggled with the implications they could be wrong. Yet, she sought him out time and again. She had refused to abandon him to the Seeker and the Inquisition’s forces, if the time came she would have fought for him. It was a promise she still honored. One meant when spoken and said despite her defensiveness before their first attempt to seal the Breach.

Not because he was right and she was wrong.

It was said because she recognized him as kin.

Her kin.

Unusual for one of the Dalish, who had their own derisive slur for the elves of the cities: flat-ear. It was taken from knife-ear, a term used by the humans for all elves.

To her, he was no flat-ear to be scorned for his lack of vallaslin. She wore her slave marks proudly and without shame, but she did not expect him to join her. His offered knowledge no less valuable. His perspective was interesting. One worth listening to. She humored him even when she thought he was wrong, debated with him when she was sure. Wanted to know why, looked for details and pieces to weave a complete picture of the history he offered. If she lost, she eventually returned to plant piles upon piles of research on his desk and asked for his evidence. He devoted hours in Skyhold's library to finding supporting facts in this time's limited collection of knowledge to complete his victory.

A smile twitched his lips.

A woman’s eyes stared at him out of a child’s face, hiding a sharp wit and an even sharper strategic mind. It coupled with intelligence and charisma, persona built into a façade both warm and welcoming. It was real and not real, a bundle of truth and lies far too reminiscent of his own. In Eirwen, he could see the suspicion and mistrust. Layers created to fulfill the heavy burden of expectations. As the Herald, she created more, and took lessons from Josephine and Leliana in order to make her elven self unexpectedly acceptable to the human nobles of Thedas. She attempted to do so without compromising her own goals or integrity.

The real woman hid somewhere within that multitude of mirrored faces. Each simultaneously real and false.

Phantom Eirwen closed the distance between them. Her smile pulling into a grin, revealing a set of pearly teeth. Her chin tilted, face turning up to linger inches from his. She leaned in, shy as a maiden receiving a prospective first kiss. Cool breath misting across his nose and mouth. Ever the tease.

Solas’ stomach twinged and twisted. Eyes flicking back to the vallaslin.

Dirthamen’s. This was exactly the sort of weapon Dirthamen might have salivated over. Once. He had many such acolytes in his temples and there were moments, Solas knew, when she was Dirthamen’s creature in spirit as much as bond.

His eyes squeezed shut. Hand beating against his thigh.

_She is no slave!_

Dirthamen was gone. He could make no claim. Had none to stake.

Forcing his eyes open, Solas focused back on the phantom’s visage.

Those sky blue eyes glittered, lips almost brushing his mouth.

He did not dare touch her.

Slowly, she began to pull away.

He could do nothing except follow.

Whether a spirit or a figment, the second he reached out the dream would end. The question of whether this was a meaningless taunt or an answer to seek would be left for another night. His ability to reach the Fade might continue to be denied him.

That could not be allowed.

He could not afford the distraction, yet it came anyway. Time and again. Another haunted night when aching desires left her beyond his ability to reach. To touch. To hold.

He must face it.

Conquer it.

_Then I shall move on,_ Solas told himself. _Then, I will end this._

With each step Eirwen drew closer to the thick brambles at the edge of the clearing, on a path leading further and further into the woods. She disappeared into shadow.

He swallowed.

Tall trees clustered as he passed. Clutching arms of branches snagging on his clothes, scraping across his neck and back. Cutting between the trunks, he followed Eirwen. Eyes locked on a bobbing orange head.

She quickened. Racing past the trees, light and quick, her steps carried her away faster than any halla.

Solas gave chase.

Heart pounding in his chest. Sweat slipping down his jaw. His feet cut on brambles, on exposed roots attempting to wrap round his ankles. A bloody offering in the real world, painless here. In this, a fragmentary dream brushing against the fabric of the Fade.

It could not hurt him.

They raced higher and higher. Across the rolling hills, drawing farther and farther away from camp. A jagged path leading ever upwards, ever higher, into the untamed wilderness. Finally, they came upon a great cliff, twinned and separated by a raging waterfall.

Spray caught in his eyes, cooling his head, neck, and chest. Water mingled with sweat. Slowly, Solas wiped his hand across his brow. Watching Eirwen press ahead.

Her footsteps carried her to the cliff and did not slow. One foot planted hard in the grass dotting the clearing and she launched straight up. A great unnatural bound straight to the top of the cliff, it bore her a hundred meters high.

A jump he could mirror here, but not without drawing attention. 

Walking to the face, Solas placed his hands against the smooth cut stone. Locating hand holds, well-worn by time and other visitors, he began to climb.

He recalled this particular pathway was a meditative process. One of the great many the Dalish themselves still clung to. Many creatures found solace in moments of silence, reflection, and their focus on powering through the limitations of the body.

A breathy moment passed through his lungs, oxygen sucked in weakly as the air grew thin. One hand moved, then the other, arms straining as they lifted his body. His feet locating the safe havens his hands vacated. In his wild days, before he vacated the mystery of the wilds for the walled safety of crystalline cities and academia, Solas had performed many feats like this. Honing his body to match his spirit. He had done it for himself alone.

Others followed in the name of their respective deities. Built their temples to mark their passing, claiming the land in the name of another or even in his own. The path of one devotee became a pilgrimage and many came after, chasing a light greater than theirs. A force extending beyond their limited comprehension.

Whatever else, a hint of memory remained in this place as any lingering sense of power left its impression on the Fade. One that still clung to each rock and tree, stalk and branch. Embedded in the ancient forest below.

Hauling himself up, one arm then foot, then hand then leg, he slid over the edge and rolled onto his back. Breath squeezed from his lungs. Black clouds rolled by overhead, ignoring the rising silver mist gathering beneath his hands and rising to cloud the path up the cliff. A green sky glared down on him. Great pieces of floating stone, raised black shards of obsidian, where water ran upwards into the glow.

The Fade.

So close, he could taste it.

Solas stood.

A vista rolled before him, half hidden by shadows and gray-green fog. A winding path, wide enough only for a single supplicant. Pebbled stone marked it, unkempt from the bits of grass cutting up through the dirt and rock. Small black bushes sprouted up between thick squares of stone. Scraggly arms clawing toward the sky above. Embrium and elfroot fighting for life on their rocky battleground.

Something waited here. The air held the same power he felt on the climb. Some ancient shrine, he suspected, to some ancient god.

Elven. Dwarven. Dragon.

A thousand fallen religions dedicated to those long dead.

It mattered little. Not at all.

Whatever meaning this dream had, it was not made by the place. It drew from his mind. His fears. His loss. A message from his subconscious calling him to lay down a claim. To face his confusion. If he followed it to its appropriate conclusion, it would ease his mind and the path to the Fade would open for him once again.

Solas made his way up the path, passing boulder and grass, moving beneath the cold shadows cast by long branches, patiently waiting for the end to reveal itself.

A shape moved in the fog.

Behind it, a great shrine speared up out of the ground. Black obsidian walls, squared, with gates swung wide. A shadow within a shadow, black upon black. So dark he could make out no shapes or carvings.

Solas drew closer, fog drawing back like a burial shroud.

A face emerged, a body, oddly shaped with two great shadows borne on each shoulder. His gaze caught on bright orange hair glinting greenish against a brackish sky. Eirwen faced him, still dressed as a Warden Battlemage. The opening of that great temple at her back. Her hands tucked behind her. Twin ravens rested on her shoulders. Their heads turned away, beaks crowning her head, each fixing him with a beady black eye.

_Fear and Deceit._

It could not be those ancient creatures. Named by Dalish folklore, they had been Dirthamen’s most devoted servants and were once linked to the great butcher Falon’din. He knew them once in their other forms, shape changers both. Immortal servants devoted to their master and killed in the great wars. The Dalish believed they wandered, but he knew they were not free. The dead did not return, not even from In Uthenara.

A shadow leaned out of the darkness and Solas saw the specter’s dark hands lain across each of Eirwen’s eyes, slowly drawing her back into the temple.

His breath caught.

_No!_

That devilish smile he loved cut across her mouth. She drew her arms out from behind her back and she held a set of closed fists out toward him. Turning her hands over, palms up, she uncurled her fingers and opened each. A pair of reddened round white balls balanced on the cusp of each palm.

Solas stared into a set of blue irises, the blue of a sky in summer.

“Inquisitor!”

His voice ripped from his throat.

The ravens let out a screaming caw, black wings spread wide, and launched from her shoulders.

Eirwen thrust her arms high, tossing the eyes—her eyes—into the black-green sky.

They dived. Each snagging an eye before they swung away on obsidian wings.

“Dread Wolf!”

A voice boomed out from the temple, dark and recognizable.

“You cannot take what is freely given!”

_Eirwen!_

Solas flung himself forward.

Only to find the gates slammed shut.

And he was falling.


	2. On the Pathway of a Broken Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirwen climbs a cliff and thinks thoughts not so pleasant. **Warning:** Contemplations of suicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything. Nothing. This setting and the characters belong to Bioware. They aren't mine. I just put the words in a row.

There were days on the road when Eirwen Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, and Leader of the Inquisition, simply disappeared.

Each time they finally caught up with her or when she returned to camp, her friends made her promise to never ever do it again. Cassandra would tell her off. Blackwall would cross his arms intimidatingly and give her a glare he reserved only for the most troublesome recruits. Dorian would shake his head and offer snarky commentary about bears, it was always dangers regarding bears. Vivienne would pinch her cheek, scrape off the dirt, and then spent an awfully long amount of time clucking over any scrapes and bruises—real or imagined. Iron Bull would laugh and ask how he was supposed to protect her if she wouldn’t take him with her. Varric and Sera had very little to say, though her dwarven friend once offered to chain her to her bedpost. Then, Eirwen had woken one night to find Sera actually chaining her to a make-shift bedpost planted next to her head. Cole just stared at her, sad as a puppy, as if she’d just kicked him, and asked why she had not taken him with her.

Solas… It was difficult to say. His expression always seemed caught between mild irritation and reproach. Of all their companions, she’d expected him to best understand. Sometimes he expressed his worry at her wandering into the dangerous woods alone, sometimes he told the others to stop chiding her.

And she would do it, for a time.

She tried.

Honest.

A few days, a few weeks, once she’d even lasted a month. A full month of listening to them clomp along behind her, their chatter around the fires, laughing at their jokes, and hiding any hurt over accidental insults. With the scouts bowing to her in deference, even if they coughed and mocked behind her back. Always coming to her with more work, more messages, more word on troop movements and diplomatic negotiations until it all filled up her head. Cullen's messages. Josephine's messages. Leliana's. Words, words on pages, written words in languages she barely understood. Discovering words written in languages she _didn't_ understand.

Until finally on some lonely, stormy night, she sat bolt upright in bed. Knocked free of a particularly unpleasant nightmare.

Usually, it was Red Templars. Haven. The Avalanche.

Eirwen found herself facing down Cullen’s friend Ser Barris outside of Haven. She barely remembered the Templar, they’d never spoken beyond the brief moment in Val Royeaux when he’d voiced concern over the Lord Seeker’s madness, but she had known him when he had approached on swaying red spears. Spikes protruded from his back like a fungal colony in full bloom. One arm transformed into a great club, dragging across the ground as he marched. The other skeletal. His face contorted, mutated flesh drawing up one side of his face into a grisly maw. The rest of it blended into the ruby crystal, eyes burning in a fierce red light as he swayed toward her.

In her dreams, she heard him screaming. Begging in the voice of the man she remembered.

_Why? Why? WHY?_

She sobbed. Always sobbing. One hand extended toward that twisted visage. Turn back the clock. To offer him some relief.

_I’m sorry! I couldn’t save you!_

Then, the fires would start. Circling, unending, a crackling blaze as the great dragon dropped down out of the sky and set her small world alight. Smoke catching in her lungs, burning her eyes, she stumbled, swaying as Ser Barris mutated arm came slashing down. She rolled. Escaping in time to see Corypheus enter behind him, emerging from the fire. He held the orb in his hand. Glowing green, her fingers crackled and jerked away from Ser Barris. Hanging still, no more than a ragdoll, as that red lyrium hand reached out to seize her throat.

Barris howled.

_Why? Why? Why?_

A crushing grip closed on her windpipe. Air flow ceased.

_You are a mistake!_

Her hands clawed at her throat. Bravado gone. Anger little more than a dim ember.

_Know me! Know what you have pretended to be!_

A scream from the great dragon. In victory, she knew, and in despair.

_Why? Why? Why?_

Her hand rose, struggling not toward Corypheus but toward the Breach. At the center of it all, a great, deep echoing dark. Dark to seep into her bones, a dark that crept in behind her eyes. A song echoed from that dark. Music she almost remembered. It called to her from deep inside her soul.

_You should never have existed!_

She did not.

Eirwen was nothing.

Empty.

A shell.

Her insides twisted into another place.

She woke to a chill deep in her bones. Cold, colder than that night fighting her way up the pass through the Frostbacks. Her hand burning on her skin, a green glitter catching in her eyes and reflecting off white snow. The darkness of her tent, a whisper echoed in her ears. The sound just beyond hearing. This voice she knew she had heard, but she could not remember from where.

When it happened. When the dreams came. When she stumbled from her tent at midnight and saw Leliana’s ravens sitting on her tent, their impassive eyes watching her. She had to go.

Yes, Eirwen paused, she had to.

Ahead, twin sets of great cliff faces rose out of the morning fog. Between them, a waterfall thundered down into a great river below. It was perhaps fifty meters high. She’d passed this pair five or six times on different trips through the Emerald Graves. Her eyes always lingering on the fine cuts in the stone, signs of elven created hand holds and the promise of some great treasure at the top. Secrets of her people both modern and Ancient that she longed to know. Secrets hidden by a climb so high and dangerous that with her companions at her back, the Herald of Andraste might never be allowed to ferret out.

_Save it for another time, Herald._

Tonight, Eirwen crossed nearly five miles through the wilderness in the dark, scouting out trails on the path of least resistance. Alone, she traveled faster. Faster than she ever had before. It was as if Dirthamen himself smiled on her pursuit of knowledge. Never sure what to believe about the Elven gods, Eirwen appreciated the irony. Where other members of her Clan hunted in the woods for food, she hunted secrets. Secrets and knowledge dear to the People, secrets of their past to be dragged forward into the light for all to see.

_I can climb it for you, Inquisitor_

She hunted secrets down now too. Skyhold’s library teemed with books, secrets, and hidden things. A thousand researchers brought her new information every day. With her team at her back she had wandered a hundred caves and ruins, bringing back new treasures torn from the grips of monsters, spiders, and undead.

Never alone. Never for herself. Never time to think about what she laid claim to. It was all in the service of the cause. The Inquisition was just another Clan, they all wanted or needed something from her. They never needed _her_. 

_Well, not today._

The cliff face spread before her, towering up into the crystal gray of an early morning sky. The waterfall raced over the edge, spray catching in the early light of sunrise. Pink spread across the horizon, peeking over the treetops. The first sign of dawn. She still had an hour or two before the sun came.

Today, she could be Eirwen. Not First of Clan Lavellan. Not Herald of Andraste. Not Inquisitor. Not Lavellan. No title. No nothing. Just Eirwen. In a place where the rocks and the trees never cared about how many cried out her name.

Eirwen crossed the grassy knoll, grinning from ear to ear. Removing her coat, pulling off her shirt, and tossing away her gloves and boots as she did.

She couldn’t wait to start climbing.

Her hands settled on the cliff face. Palms brushing across the cool, rough surface of stone. Fingers chasing the lines in the wall, until she located slim grooves cut into the granite. Hand holds. _Of course._ A small rune was inscribed beneath them. She traced it, tip of her index finger finding the different ruts and exposed a crude shape carved deep in the stone. Not a word of elvish. Not like the ones she'd exposed with Veilfire. This was left by one of the Dalish to mark their passage.

A message left for those on pilgrimage.

The sign of a hidden shrine nearby.

A raven.

_Dirthamen._

Eirwen smiled, reaching up to grasp the first of the higher handholds. Sweat slipped down her chin. Her tongue slipping out between her lips, to swipe another drip away. She climbed. One hand after another. Her mind sinking deep into her own thoughts. Focus shifting to her muscles, gripping tight as she located the next handhold. A single slip could mean death. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Not for the exertion, but the danger. Soon, she would be high. A fall could mean certain death. The climb, a promise of her own life, in the pursuit of knowledge. A promised gift, she supposed, if she wanted it to be.

Ironic. Yes, that was the word. Ironic that this was a path to one of Dirthamen's now-not-so-secret places.

_Well, Mister Mysterious and All Knowing can stuff it._

If she climbed, it was for the challenge not the promise. Not for the safety, but the sight. A time to let her mind relax and drift, focusing only on risking her life in a menial stress free way. Fun, not work. The sort of reckless risk her advisors and Inner Circle no longer allowed her to take. The sort Solas might look down his long nose at.

Frowning, she secured another hand hold. Her foot moving to another, higher. She felt her thigh muscles clench, core straining, and yanked her body higher. Her breath swept the surface of stone, blowing it free of dust and dirt. Inhaling fine white powder, she coughed.

_Do not risk your life needlessly, da'len. You already risk enough._

Eirwen wrinkled her nose. _Yes, hahren._ Ever dutiful in her answers. It was like talking to Keeper Istimaethoriel.

_You are more valuable than us all._

She even used the same tone. _Of course, hahren._ Emphasis on the eyeroll afterward.

Sighing, Eirwen pulled herself ever higher.

_He's not perfect, either!_

Those moments when he'd murdered those mages came to mind. His vengeful eyes filled with rage and loss. The palpable flames of his anger fanning against her hand when she reached out to comfort him and then thought better of it. _Or,_ she thought. _As Sera would say, chickened out like a poxy doxy._

He'd left and then returned, insisting he was fine.

Eirwen found another grip, fingers tangling around a solid vine. Her left leg lifted, scrambling for another hold. Her eyes focused on the top of the grassy edges at the top of the cliff, progress slowing. The hand holds grew rougher, tougher to find. She drew in a deep breath, filling her chest.

_Like anyone can be fine after losing one of their best friends._ She couldn't claim to understand it. His connection with spirits, his attachment to them. Blackwall's attempt to discuss Solas'... sexual business with them left her uneasy. Perhaps even a little queasy. Like she'd spent too many hours on a boat rocked by the waves, green even. His noncommittal answer didn't make it better. _Like he ever gives any answer other than a noncommittal._

She bit her lip.

_I thought, maybe, after the Fade he might..._ After she'd opened up about her swearing, after he'd added a few more to her vocabulary, she thought that maybe he might open up. Might talk a little more about himself. _He didn't._ Exchanges went two ways. And like this damn cliff, he was becoming just one more secret box she was determined to unlock. _Then, I'll go home to Istimaethoriel. Hand in my report and go back to ministering the stories of our ways to the young and stupid._

A smile tugged on her mouth.

_Who am I kidding? Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, they'll never let me go home. Never. Not permanently anyway._

She was now Keeper to a whole goddamn pack of humans, elves, and some dwarves who expected her to have all the answers.

_Answers to what? The mysteries of the Fade? The truth about the Black City? How I'm going to stop Corypheus? I may have made an alliance with those stupid Circle mages, but I couldn't even save the blasted Templars!_

Tears burned on her eyelids, slipping free to mingle with her sweat. Above her head, the sun crested against tall tips of the pines. Warm pink light suffusing the horizon with an orange glow. Sniffling, Eirwen pursed her lips. It wasn't fair. Thinking it made her sound like a child denied a sweet, but there it was. It wasn't fair. Carrying all of them, when none asked to share any part of her burden, when they all came to her with their problems or pushed her to the periphery. Saw what they needed to. _And I let them!_

They didn't see her hardened, lost, all alone in her bedroom at Skyhold. Tossing and turning until she finally ripped off her bedsheets and curled up on the stone floor. She rose early and re-made that bed each morning, so the servants might not see and would not gossip.

Yet, what good would it do for them to see her? They might not like what they discovered. Found the pleasant dream more acceptable, the cold and broken woman beneath a burden. If she let her worries out, then they would come tumbling. A thousand upon a thousand falling from her lips like drops of rain during Wycome's rainy season. They might realize she was frail, weak, and all too mortal.

_Know me! Know what you have pretended to be!_

The words slashed across her mind and she almost laughed.

_You supremely-powerful idiot,_ Eirwen thought. _Neither of us are what we pretend to be!_

And there it was. New tears dripped from her lashes, wetting her cheeks in the morning's cool breeze. How could she confess she pitied Corypheus as much as she feared him? Perhaps, pitied him more? _Alone in all the world, only he understands and I am the only one who can understand him._

He chased the power and she...

Eirwen didn't know. They were the same though. Their destinies intertwined by fate or chance, drawn into some great mystery that echoed out across the ages to grasp them tightly in it's wretched claws. He could not be deviated from his course. They could only use or kill each other. In the end, when they finally stared one another down, it would only be them. As it had been at Haven. As it would be... when? She didn't know. The knowledge tore at her. The City in Black filled her mind and it's golden throne at the center. The pull of the mirror. The call of ravens. Crashes of lightning slamming into her chest, the power in her hand ripping through her body, tearing her free.

Finally.

Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she felt the power in her hand roll through her. Boiling up from her hand it raced across her body. Green cracks piercing her skin, light spearing out. Skin burning, crackling, snapping outward. Her eyes glimmering, no longer blue but green and black, before power set fire to her eyes and they evaporated in a gasp of steam. Popping like Rithel's tea when he left it too long over the fire. Eirwen gone, not in flash or flood, but as an ant set fire by some child's hot poker.

Killed by the thing she lacked the tools to understand.

_I don't want to die._

Those were her choices, though. Live or die. Fail or conquer and in the process bring the world to it's knees.

_When a hundred thousand voices scream my name._

Eirwen's hand seized the ledge and she swung free, hanging for a moment with her legs dangling out over the abyss. No one to see her. She was free to slip. Free to fall. Only one fall to free herself and leave the burden forgotten. When the light faded from her eyes, alone in this beautiful place, she could finally cry out and let the pain flow. Released.

Her arm screamed. Biceps struggling, shoulder seizing and sliding, bending, elbow straining as cartilage and ligaments cracked, her fingers twisting in the dirt. Clenching the ledge. Saw the sunrise sweeping over the Emerald Graves. The low curve of the sun visible and rising.

_Beautiful._

This was her world.

Swinging her left arm up, she gripped the ledge with both hands, feet swinging back to the cliff, and she scrambled up over the edge. Rolling onto her back, she felt the breath clench in her lungs. Heart pounding, adrenaline racing through her body. Mind alive. Fingers on her right hand trembling. Her eyes locked on the blue sky overhead, the white clouds drifting pale yellow at their edges. Light shining, bright, _real_ , over the cliff's edge. She heard the crash of water pouring through the rocks as it raced over the cliff and into the pond below. Lifting her arms, she lay spread eagle on the grass.

Lips pulling into a tired smile, Eirwen began to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always describe Eirwen as light, happy, and sometimes carefree. That's how she sometimes seems to Solas anyway. Eirwen herself, however, is troubled young woman filled with self-doubt. She's pretty intelligent and, unlike the version of her in the game, more prone to contemplation about her future. She's very sure of herself, physically attentive, teasing, and connected. Deep down, she's very actually very reserved when it comes to giving away her emotions. When I played, she didn't actually fall for him until their dance at Halamshiral which was (for me) most of the way through the game.
> 
> I've always thought it takes longer for her to fall for Solas than it does for Solas to fall for her. When she does, I don't doubt she loves him. Still, he confuses her. He's hot and cold. She has a thousand more problems to consider than he does and while he does take up his own permanent corner in her mind, he isn't the end all and be all of her life. As it should be, I think. She has the world to think about and when she takes time apart from the others, some of it should be for herself.
> 
> Like most of the companions (with the exception of Cullen, really) Solas talks at Lavellan a lot in the game. I sort of wanted to address that in the story and their relationship. They have to figure out how to talk to each other beyond just the surface level. She does feel he's the only one who really gets her, but she also worries that she won't be able to live up to his expectations. _What if he doesn't like me? What if I'm not what he wants? What if..._ Always there.
> 
> Anyway, I couldn't leave it on that last cliffhanger. So I left it on another one, this time a little more literal instead of literary. I have more, but it will take me time to work through.
> 
> Hope you liked it. Comments and kudos are appreciated.


	3. Birds of a Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. Nothing at all. It all belongs to Bioware. I just put words in a row.

Solas sat up, aware only of the darkness in his tent. Low-light, a dull yellow, peeked in through the flap in his tent. Morning, he guessed, early. Resting his head in his hands, he closed his eyes. Only a dream, he thought. Only a dream. Dirthamen was trapped, like all the others, behind the Eluvian, trapped and slumbering within the Black City. He could not reach past the glass. He dreamed, but his thoughts did not echo. How could they? His song did not chase it's way into the Fade. Did not travel out to be heard by Dreamers, called into the Waking World. Made flesh and blood. Given breath or life. He could not be reached. Those who tried could not touch him. He slept. He did not wake.

_Yes._

When the time came, Solas would worry. For now, only his fears could haunt him.

A rueful smile pressed against the palms of his hands. His shoulders shook. A soft laugh echoing out. Yes, he thought. Certainly. I keep myself from the Fade. Warm breath rumbled on his skin. Eyes squeezed shut. Tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

Eirwen?

_She is safe._

For now.

He heard a pop, wine uncorked, and listened to a hand tear down the tent flap. The vague, grayed yellow light of late morning hit his eyes and blinded him. A moment later, the head of Varric Tethras appeared. Head tilted, the long waxy scar on his forehead creased by a worried furrow. Beyond him, Solas heard muttering and tromping footsteps.

Behind that, a deep voice bellowed. “Well? Where is she?!”

“Get up, Chuckles,” Varric said. “Inquisitor’s gone.”

Not since before his relaxation into In Uthenara had Solas felt his heart suddenly stop. The times before, when he bore a different name, were tumultuous moments. When another had held his life and hung it on a single thread. Such as when Andruil had pointed her golden arrow at his chest. He could still sketch the planes of her face in his mind, beautiful visage twisted and laughing. All moments of great unrest and terror.

Now, four simple words were enough.

_The Inquisitor is gone._

“We’ll find her, Chuckles,” Varric added. A sympathetic smile tugged his mouth into a wry shape. “And if we don’t, she’ll come back. She’s got her magic, that fancy Anchor, a head full of knowledge, and the sense to use it. Our Herald’s damn good at looking out for herself.”

Solas paused. Then, he reached for his staff. There was little else he could say on the matter.

“She’ll come back,” Varric repeated.

_What if she doesn’t?_

Solas wondered, but he knew not to voice that concern. His fingers tightened around the haft, studying the worn grooves in the grip and crystal at the tip.

Eirwen had this made for him in Skyhold's Smithy. Inscribed its name somewhere on the blade at the butt, though it had worn down over time. He had forgotten what she had named it, something meaningless and foolish. _She thought I would smile when I read it._ His lips twitched. _I did._

“I am certain she will,” he said slowly.

“Chuckles, that expression you’re wearing? The one torn between abject terror and utter confusion? It’s the exact same one a buddy of mine wore when I told him the woman he loved went ranging on the Wounded Coast.”

 _Love?_ A simple four letter word, easily pronounced. _Love._ The last word in all of Thedas he would use to describe his emotions regarding the Inquisitor.

Him? In love? With the Herald of Andraste? With Eirwen Lavellan?

Certainly not.

“Hunting bandits, or slavers, blood mages, or some other stupid monster. This time she went alone. Never saw a man beat a trail so fast out of town. Almost pitied Hawke for the tongue lashing she’d get when he finally found her.” Varric smiled. “Might have, if I wasn’t already out of my head with worry.”

Solas chewed the inside of his cheek.

Aroused? Yes.

Interested? Yes.

But love? Love implied an emotional connection. They were hardly close enough for a mild, momentary interest to have developed into love.

Varric’s brown eyes studied him.

Solas swallowed. He had missed the beat. This was the appropriate time to insert a question. “What did happened then?”

“Packed up Bianca and went with him,” Varric replied. “Which is exactly what we’re going to do. So get up, or Iron Bull gets the first crack when we finally track her down.”

Solas snorted.

“You think I’m joking, Chuckles,” Varric said, dropping the flap. His muffled voice echoed from behind the fabric. “Just wait.”

He hated to admit it, but he had never voluntarily scrambled out of bed quite so fast.

 

***

 

Getting to her feet, Eirwen brushed bits of grass from her pants. Scrubbing her dusty and dirty palms across her stomach, she wiped her nose. Inhaling more dust, she sneezed. An emphatic _ah-choo_ hit the morning air and echoed out across the cliff top.

A small pigeon burst from a nearby bush, startled into flight. Emerald leaves sprayed out across the grass. Gray wings beat the open air. Rising quickly, the pigeon wheeled away and turned south.

“Er seranna ma, my friend!” Eirwen called. Her hand flew high, waving. “My apologies!”

The bird sailed off, carried by a swift updraft from the morning thermals. Soon, it was only a dot on the red horizon.

Eirwen laughed. _I just got here and I’ve already ruined someone’s morning!_ Her gaze swung, following the bird’s trajectory to the forest below. Somewhere out there, her companions were waking up. Discovered her missing. Again. Guilt should have knotted her stomach, but all Eirwen could do was draw in a deep breath. She closed her eyes, willing the faces of her friends to the surface. Bull. Varric. Cole. _Yes, think of Cole._

Large puppy eyes almost invisible under the wide, flaccid brim of an oversized hat and lanky blonde hair. His long face pinched and white. Skin yellowed like the cook’s collection of fine Orlesian cheeses. Head hung, those pale eyes peering up at her from under his wavy fringe. At once both hopeful and hurt. Cole. Yes. _Don’t think of…_

Solas.

His face swam before her. Drawn up out of the depths of her mind. She saw him. Arms tucked behind his back, his chin lifted, head tilted slightly, looking at her with those sad, deep set blue eyes. Their stormy depths hiding some secret sorrow. Firm mouth pulled tight as he looked down at her. Eyebrows barely bent, small furrows in his brow. The disappointment evident in every crease and crinkle.

 _Those eyes,_ she thought. _Always sad, even when he smiles._ If he laughed, he pulled back. When he smiled, he turned away. They were fragmentary moments, snagged by desperate fingers. Until he realized what he held and inevitably hurled them down. Any happiness was to be crushed in a hardened fist, burned beneath whips of self-flagellation. It was not that he couldn’t be happy. It was that he could not allow it. When it happened, guilt inevitably followed. She saw it there, in his eyes, both the guilt of the past and the guilt of forgetting whatever great tragedy he bore on those stiff shoulders. Glimpsed in those moments after he laughed at some joke or found himself caught in one of their heated philosophical debates, when he lost the pain and became himself. Whoever Solas had been once, in the time before. Then, he realized and remembered. Each time, she watched him turn away.

 _I shouldn’t distract him. It’s cruel._ Eirwen sighed. _But._ Her heart lifted when she saw him. Bright moments like the time he cracked up after she’d asked if Varric was part of the Chantry. The little snort, his expressive face grinning and warm under a winter sun. _I can’t stop._ She lived on the hope of someday. Someday, he would look up with nose crinkled up, snorting over one of her jokes, and realize she was holding out her hands. Ready to say whatever this pain was he didn’t have to face it alone.

Eyelids flickered open, her gaze dropping down to watch grubby toes squirming on the grass.

She could do nothing. A deep cut that ran the length and depth of his soul. Suffering from some sort of loss. His people? His pride? He was chased by inner demons, harsher and darker than any she’d ever met before. _Ir abelas, Solas._ The words rang through her as they often did when he filled her mind. _I don’t know how to help you._ Her lips pursed. _Even if I did, he probably wouldn’t let me._ Perhaps, that was the cruelest cut of all. _Maybe all I can be is a few pleasant moments, forgotten in a dream._

Rubbing the back of her head with a rueful smile, Eirwen faced the path.

Sunlight glinted off the raging river before her, a light red and pink shimmering in rainbow sprays as water raced headlong over the edge. Grass sprouted up, a healthy green, all the way the river’s edge. A wide path lead off toward it, dirt beaten down by the passage of a few hundred footsteps. One lone tree stood beside the eastern facing cliff. A sapling, Eirwen realized, planted by one of the recent Dalish clans moving through the area to mourn the loss of one of their dead. To mark the passing of a hunter, an elder, or a child, even a Keeper. Its young boughs stretched out into open air, leaning off the cliff, reaching for the rising sun.

_I’ll dedicate a prayer to Falon’din for you, Lethallin._

Eirwen smiled and scrubbed her nose. Slowly, she began making her way up toward the tree. It was a beautiful place even if there wasn’t anything particularly magical about it. No sign of any shrine, old or new.

Only a tree.

Planted in memory of the dead, a sign they were not forgotten.

_You will not be forgotten._

 

***

 

“Should’ve known,” Iron Bull muttered. “The Boss never sleeps in.”

Offering his plate to Cole, Solas watched Iron Bull leap to his feet.

“Solas!” The gigantic qunari yelled. He managed to keep his own morning rations balanced in his hands, even as he nearly overturned the pot. Iron Bull whipped around, his good eye narrowed. “You agreed to watch her!”

“I spent the early morning exploring the history of the Emerald Graves in the Fade,” he said. “I checked on her several times.”

“Cause that’s not creepy,” Varric said.

Solas frowned. It seemed Varric Tethras’ support only went so far. _I can hardly blame him._ Varric valued privacy and freedom. While there were many situations where they found themselves in accord, this was not one of them. “The Inquistor agreed,” he reminded him.

“Only,” Varric shot back, “after you, Bull, and the Seeker ganged up on her. No offense, Bull.”

“None taken,” Iron Bull replied. “I didn’t like it, but it’s better than chaining her up.”

“Poor kid.” Varric shook his head. “Can’t even have privacy when she dreams.”

“If she didn’t run off exploring—”

“Still,” Solas cut him off. “Nothing seemed amiss.”

“Had to go,” Cole murmured from the left. “The dreams came back.”

They all glanced at him.

Dreams? Solas leaned forward. Odd. He had sensed nothing.

“What dreams, kid?” Varric sat across from him.

“Great,” Iron Bull sighed.

“I am curious to hear this as well,” Solas said.

“Nightmares.” Cole rocked over his porridge, knocking his knees together. “About Templars and the bad men, dark and murky. They want her to help them. They cry out, echoes rippling, pebbles in a pond. She hurts. A knife in the dark. Buried in the back. Between shoulder blades, cuts, shadows slicing dark. She hurts. Tumbling down jagged cliffs. A thousand cuts. I could have saved you. Shouting, always shouting. Building to a fever pitch.” Cole swallowed, tucking in tight. “She _hurts._ ”

“Mystical crap,” Iron Bull muttered. “Awesome.”

Brushing his hands across his thighs, Solas stood. Cole’s words irked him. Whether he was more worried about the fact he had not sensed her nightmares, not a one, or dismayed by her unwillingness to confide in him, he couldn’t be sure.

His hand tightened around his staff. It bothered him more than he’d expected.

 _The mark could be blocking my attempts._ Sometimes, he faced difficulty feeling her mind, even in the Fade. She disappeared in and out of his consciousness when he was not thinking. Was not trying to trace her passage. Cole once confessed a similar trouble. Whatever the mark had done, it had changed her.

Then, there was his second issue. She had dreams, nightmares, and had not sought him out. Did not confide in him. He alone of all those in Skyhold best equipped to help her and she did not turn to him. Solas swallowed. The idea the Eirwen who visited him was just another of the many reflections she created for her other companions, that his attraction to her was merely a fabrication of what he wanted to see… What if his magic was all he did? What if it had made of her what he wanted and he had failed to see the real woman beneath its searing scar? His own feelings latching onto a pale imitation of his creation?

“Now, don’t go wandering off,” Varric called. “What if you get lost too?”

Solas glanced back. He’d gotten halfway to the tree line, almost stepped out of the grove. Gone to what? Chase her down? Haul her back by her hair? Shake his finger and make disapproving gestures? He had every reason to. Running away was foolish. She could be harmed out there. He had witnessed her fall before. There would be no one to cast an extra barrier in the moments before she could get hers up. If she were to fight, if she fell, no one would be there to revive her. If she did die, then how would they stop Corypheus and close the Breach? Yes, how would they close the Breach?

Varric’s chiding voice echoed inside his mind. _And you wonder why she doesn’t confide in you?_

“Together,” Solas said. “Cole and I should be able to locate the Inquisitor.”

“Let me guess,” Iron Bull said. “You want the two of us to just stay here while you go running off?”

“Fighting every monster and enemy in sight will only slow us down,” Solas replied. “Our goal is to find her. It would be best if we did not bring every enemy in the Emerald Graves down upon her when we do.”

Iron Bull snorted. “Fine,” he growled. “Don’t take too long.”

“Forget it,” Varric said. “I’m coming.”

“If you insist, Varric.” Solas sighed. “Come, Cole.”

“Yes.” The spirit sprang to his feet. He crossed out of the camp and into the clearing.

Together, the two turned north.

Solas felt Varric behind him, tromping heavily even with light footsteps. Bianca swung across his back. Their dwarven friend was no ranger, but he passed through the woods more quietly than the Iron Bull.

Varric called, “So, Cole, any idea where our wayward leader could be?”

A question asked, Solas decided, purely to make conversation. _Perhaps, he hopes to ease his own worries._

“No,” Cole replied. “I can follow the trail of hurt. It fades, in and out, a flickering candle. Strong, then weak.” He lifted a finger and jabbed it northward. “There.”

Solas felt his guts twist. The same direction as his dream.

“Think she could be hurt?”

“She hurts,” Cole replied. “She always hurts. Carrying a great pain, twisting and quivering. Piles and piles of fragmented voices all crying out. No way to soothe them.”

“Physically hurt, kid.”

“I…” The boy’s head cocked to the side. “I can’t tell.”

Calmly, Solas headed in the direction indicated. If they traveled quickly, perhaps they would find her before she came to harm. As they passed through the woods, Solas found himself drifting into his own thoughts. Cole could readily sense any enemies in their path and allow them to find a different path. It was best to focus on what they would do when they finally found her.

 _What I will say._ If she was having nightmares then he should be the best person to help her through them. _Yet…_ he found himself at a loss. _Why did she not tell me?_

Everyone wanted something from their Inquisitor. She carried the hopes of Thedas on her shoulders. When they looked at her, they saw more than an individual, more than a single being.

Solas would be lying if he thought the same was not true for him. It was a different hope, perhaps, a different dream. He wanted nothing she could understand. When he joined the Inquisition, he had merely allied himself with the only power capable of recovering what he had foolishly lost. A correction of an error, he was fixing a fault in his judgment. As the ones who stood against his enemy, they provided an easy means of recovery. It was simple, logical, an obvious choice and gave him time to formulate a new strategy.

There should be nothing more to it.

 _Yet, here I am furious she does not bare her soul._ His entire pretense for joining built itself upon a lie. He had not told her who he was, could not. Yet, he expected her to talk to him. Expected her to confide. To tell him her troubles, just as she incessantly asked after his. When he found her... _I will grab her with both hands and I will shake her, and shake her, and shake her._

 _No,_ Solas almost shook his head. _I cannot do that._

He didn’t expect it. He wanted it. Wanted to shake her, wanted to yell, wanted to demand why she had been so reckless with her life, wanted to until she promised to never do it again, wanted to slam is mouth to hers in another sweet… He swallowed. He wanted her. Not so surprising after their kiss in the Fade. Not so surprising after her confession about her need to curse in quiet places where she thought no one could hear. He had asked then though, she had not volunteered. Asked out of curiosity, because he wanted to know.

_Perhaps, Varric’s arrow is not off target after all._

A furious emotion raged, barely contained, just beneath the surface. His heart sped up with every smile and he reached out to her shoulder with every sign of loss. His head lifting when vaguely familiar footsteps approached his door, elation falling when another entered.

Love. He had no use for it. Yet, he could not deny it.

_I will find her and I will shake her. No. I will tell her calmly and rationally why this must stop._

Rationally.

Calmly.

Logically.

With cool words and simple language.

Do it while he stayed as far from her as possible.

Yes, he would do that.

Or else… he might…

No.

This had to stop. One way or another.

He could not take much more.


	4. When the Moment Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirwen meets a stranger on the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who've left kudos! Especially LittleLocker and HallaHeart for their wonderful comments! I know this story is slow compared to my other works, but they're all about to meet up I swear. For those of you more up on elvish than I am, you'll notice I made up a few phrases that are mixed in with the known ones. Try not to beat me with sticks for my terrible elvish grammar. I provided translations in the text for all the relevant ones, mostly because searching the end notes for long phrases is really irritating for me and I suspect for you guys too.
> 
> As usual, I own nothing. It all belongs to Bioware. I just put words in a row.

Pressing her hand to rough bark, Eirwen stared through at leafy branches toward the rising sun. It was a simple tree, small. It’s stringy little body shooting upwards and already top heavy. No one had come to care for it. _They’ve planted it too close to the edge._ In time, it could only fall. Cool beneath her palm, she felt the last lingering gasp of the night’s chill and pressed her forehead to the bark. Small flowers dotted around the tree's base. Rising out of small bumps in the dirt. Heads unfurled to show the white and red faces of Andraste’s Grace.

She breathed deep, inhaling the cool damp air of the river, the moist dirt, and spicy fragrances drifting down off the overhead leaves. They were near a change in seasons in the Emerald Graves, the passage of spring to summer. Flowers bloomed late or not at all. 

“May Falon’din protect you and keep you, Lethallin,” she murmured. “May his hands draw your soul forth and guide you on. In uthenera na revas.” _In the waking sleep is freedom._ Her eyes closed, hand flat against the tree face. “Ma elgar, tu elgar, inan ma vallasdahlen el uth’enasal.” _My spirit, your spirit, inside your life-tree our joyful relief is never ending._ “Dareth shiral da’len na elvhen.” _Safe journey, child of the elvhen._ “One day, we will meet in the place where no wolf haunts our steps.” 

A crack snapped through the woods behind her. The sound of a foot crushing a fallen branch. Eirwen wheeled, raising her hands. Sparks flashed on her fingers, the bluish-purple of a barrier flickering across her shoulders and arms. 

“Hamin!” A voice cried out. Male. Speaking elvish. _Sheath your knife._

That rough approximation of stop. 

A shadowy figure stood across the ridge, gloomy even the morning sun. His face half hidden beneath a blue hood. At his back, she saw a dense forest and the winding path leading down. He held his hands up in a gesture of peace. He was too short to be human and too tall to be a dwarf, his frame surprisingly broad for an elf. _He is elven,_ Eirwen decided. _Dalish?_ How could that be? _Perhaps from the cities._ It was hard to imagine one of the People wearing the simple blue and gray of an Inquisition scout. The elf drew back his hood. Sunlight catching in his dark hair. 

“Aneth ara, Lethallan,” the tall elf said. Obsidian bangs flopped across his forehead. Wide black eyes, thick and dark like the ink Josephine used with her finest quill, watched her. A smooth face, young—she guessed early thirties at the latest—with pale skin bordering on an almost ghostly white. An amiable smile on his full lips. Fishing out a small bit of dried jerky from the pouch on his belt, he held it out to the raven on his shoulder. “Or,” he paused. “Should I say Inquisitor?” 

The bird snapped at it. Beak clicking, it tore the meat from his hand and tilted its head back. The meat disappeared down its gullet, vanishing in a single swallow. 

The long simple lines of Dirthamen’s marks were inscribed on his forehead, nose, and cheeks. Inhaling slowly, Eirwen let a careful breath expand her chest. He was one of the Dalish. He wore the blues of an Inquisition scout. Still, she didn’t recognize him. _He could be new. Leliana has many spies I don’t know._

“No,” she said. Then, she blinked. “I mean yes.” Inclining her head, she added, “andaran atish’an, fellow traveler.” Hands dropping to her sides, she released her magic slowly and allowed the welling regret of leaving her staff at the bottom of the cliff to simmer in her stomach. _Last time I do that._ She could cast without it, but a focus to draw her powers through was always helpful. “It is always good to meet another of the People.” 

He bowed, gracefully. One arm swept before him. The raven hopped to his back and then to his shoulder as he straightened. Wings fluttering, it resettled. “The pleasure is mine, Herald.” 

Wouldn’t Leliana tell her if a Dalish recruit had offered to join? The Clans clung to their own fiercely and kept to themselves. Other than Clan Lavellan, the others saw her now as a spokesman for the Chantry. To some, she was a traitor. To others, another sheep lost from the fold. Too many hated what she represented. There were precious few of the Dales among the Inquisitions ranks. 

“You are?” 

“Harel,” he replied. 

Eirwen frowned. Harel was the base word for harellan, the elvish word for trickster, false friend, or betrayer. It meant to trick or deceive, one who caused fear. Not a surprising name for a spy. “Did you choose it yourself?” 

Harel smiled. “Yes.” White teeth flashed as those full lips parted. “I gave up my older self and chose a new name after I became a member of your Clan.” Thumb and index finger touched his brow. “In the ancient tradition of the People and,” his head tilted further, “to mock the shemlen.” 

A short bark of laughter caught in Eirwen’s throat. A joke, he’d given himself a joke name. _Josephine still doesn’t know much elvish._ It probably allowed him to pass well enough among the humans, possibly even among the city elves without arousing suspicion. Swallowing it, she crossed her arms. “My Clan?” He couldn’t possibly mean Clan Lavellan. Keeper Istimaethoriel would’ve written if she sent a recently acquired hunter. 

“Clan Inquisition,” he replied. His black eyes shone yellow as sunlight captured him. “Of course.” 

Lifting her hand to hide a smile, Eirwen glanced away. Her lips curved, twitching against her knuckles. Her shoulders shook. A chuckle rolled up from her diaphragm. _I suppose in its own way, that’s true._ She’d thought the same herself. “Of course,” she said. Her eyes shifted back to Harel’s. “Be careful, Lethallin. There are humans who know some pieces of our language.” 

His left hand rose, fingers flicking across a thin scar running the length of his cheekbone. “A lesson I’ve learned well since, Herald.” 

Slowly, Eirwen crossed the grass to him. Were he human, she might have crossed her arms to protect her breasts. Covered the low-cut bra, hiked up her dirt stained pants. _Humans and their thrice damned modesty,_ she thought. With Harel there was no need. Her current style was not uncommon among the hunters, even those craftsmen. One could not flee into an aravel every time they needed to change. If he found the sight of her at all arousing, he gave no indication. “Did you come for me?” 

“No.” He tilted his head, lips twitching into an impish smile. “Are you missing?” 

Teeth skating across her lower lip, Eirwen shrugged. “I wouldn’t say so,” she said. Then, she lifted her chin and answered his smile with a grin of her own. “More like they have lost me.” 

Harel laughed. It was a warm, rich sound and echoed across the clifftop. “I heard you had a sense of humor, Herald.” Calmly, he stuck out his hand. “I’m glad to see the rumors didn’t lie.” 

She grabbed it and gave a solid shake, a strangely human greeting for their kind. _But,_ Eirwen supposed, _maybe we’ve both lived amongst them for too long._ “I’ve been known to kill a joke or two on occasion,” she said. 

“And, I expect, eat it after,” Harel replied. 

Eirwen smiled. Her eyes moved to the raven on his shoulder. Black eyes swung across her face, its head cocking as it watched her. _One of Leliana’s?_ Perhaps. Even without his connection to Dirthamen, ravens were clever creatures. Intelligent as any of the People. It paid to win one as a friend. That it chose to be with him spoke well for his character. “What brings you here?” 

“A routine patrol, though in truth,” he sighed, “it is fortunate I found you.” He spread his hands. “Emma isala’halani.” 

_He needs help?_ She frowned. “Why?” 

“I have discovered…” he trailed off. “In truth, I don’t know. It is uth’setheren, a place where the Veil is thin.” 

The Veil had a way of repairing itself over time, even as human battles or places of great death and tragedy made it easier for demons to climb across into the Waking World. The usage of uth implied this place was always so. Permanent. _Interesting that he can sense it._ Harel had given no sign of possessing any magical talent. _Maybe he saw demons._ “Eternally?” 

He nodded. “I believe it to be some kind of ancient temple, separate from the Graves. The nature of the carving implies it is older and dates closer to the ancient days of Arlathan.” Harel grinned. “Or, at least, that is the carving style my Keeper once told me to look for.” His turned sheepish as he added, “there is a door, but I cannot find the mechanism to unlock it.” 

“Interesting,” she said. Glancing toward the river, she let the light sink into the corner of her eye. _Already late morning._ In response, her stomach gurgled. A reminder she hadn’t eaten. _Not since last night._ Her lips quirked. Her gaze dropped to his belt, to the third pouch on the right. Tongue swiping the top of her mouth, she added, “maybe I can help you.” 

“I’d appreciate it,” he said. “I—” 

Eirwen held up a hand. “Over breakfast.” 

His hand dropped to his pouch, black eyes swinging down. “Ah,” he murmured. Thumb stroking the buckle that kept a week’s worth of ration bars safe. “I’m on my last one.” Slowly, a grin tugged at the side of his mouth. “Due to report in tomorrow.” 

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Tricky.” Eirwen lifted an eyebrow. “Split it with you? Half is a fair exchange for helping you find a solution to your temple problem.” _I’ll have to deal with it eventually anyway._

“You drive a hard bargain, Herald,” Harel said. “Tell you what.” Opening his pouch, he produced the slim bar. “I’ll race you for it.” 

Eirwen grinned, crossing her arms. “A challenge?” 

Harel lifted his chin. “A wager.” 

“Mmm.” _I shouldn’t do this._ She couldn’t help herself. _It’s wrong on so many levels._ It had been so long since anyone had treated her like a being of flesh in blood. It felt a little like the old days. _Or,_ Eirwen thought, _what the old days might have been like._ She tossed her head toward the cliff. “My gear is down there. First one to the bottom wins?” 

His eyes followed hers. “Very well.” He paused, then his eyes moved to the bar between his fingers. Slowly, the raven on his shoulder slid down his bicep. Harel turned his wrist over and it dug its talons into his forearm. “Let me raise the stakes.” He licked his lips. “Win,” he said. “And I’ll catch you breakfast.” 

“All right.” Eirwen’s grin tugged against her right cheek. She lifted her brows. “You win, I’ll cook it for you.” 

Those black eyes jumped back to her and locked on. “Breakfast cooked by the Herald?” He grinned, stroking his chin. Something changed in those eyes, a brief flicker of emotion. One she couldn’t name. “That’ll give me bragging rights for the next six months.” 

Eirwen’s stomach twisted. _Can’t back out now._ “A year, at least.” 

“I lose, I catch it and cook it?” he asked. “I win, I catch it but you cook it?” 

She nodded. 

“I like that.” Harel laughed. “Either way, I end up with the lion’s share of work and you still get breakfast.” He took a step forward. “How about this? I win, I make you breakfast and get upgraded to your special squad.” 

“Hmm.” Biting the inside of her cheek, she glanced at the sky and pretended to think it over. Cassandra would never go for it. Cullen would probably kill her. Leliana always hated losing one of her agents. Behind her, water rushed off the cliff. Rushed into a deep, clean, blue… river. _I’ve got an idea._ “On a temporary basis?” 

He nodded. “Of course.” 

Foot tapping the grass, she studied him. Even if she did lose, Eirwen thought, Harel might not be a bad one to take with her. _If he proves he can keep up with the others._ Then, she turned her head, spit into her hand, and offered it up. “It’s a deal.” 

He spat into his palm and seized hers. Their hands clenched, skin on skin, with an awful squelch. “First to the bottom?” 

“You’re on.” She gave it a quick shake. 

“On the count of three,” Harel said. “When my raven launches.” 

“One,” Eirwen said, balls of her feet digging into the dirt. 

“Two,” Harel called. 

Their eyes met. A pair of shared grins. “Three!” 

Harel flung his wrist high. His raven’s wings spreading as it took flight. Beating wings filled the air. The bird circled up, higher and higher. 

Eirwen spun. Racing toward the river, she kept her eyes fixed on the smooth, wet stones. Magic flickered on her fingers. Crackling and snapping, she drew deep and lay a purple shield across her body. The air shimmered. Feet pounded the dirt and grass. Faster and faster, until she hit the sandy edge of river bank. 

Raging noise hit her ears. White spray filled the air. Rippling, rolling, moving water pounding toward the cliff’s edge. The yellow glow of the sun’s rays slashing across damp stone. 

_A single slip._

Eirwen leaped… 

Bare feet slammed onto the first stone. She jumped the next, and the next. Water swelled beneath her, carried by the current. Her eyes locked on the great stone jutting out of the center of the waterfall. She cut across, scrambling up over a boulder. Hopped and hit her destination. 

“Herald!” 

Heart bashed her ribcage, arms pumping. She raced toward the edge of the cliff. Hitting the pinnacle, she whipped around. 

_Inquisitor!_

Harel was standing at the edge of the clearing. His jaw unhinged, mouth hanging wide open. 

_You could kill yourself!_

An expression she’d seen on a thousand other faces, a hundred times before. 

_Don’t put yourself at risk!_

Another firmer voice gripped her mind. 

_You are more valuable than us all._

She almost shook her head. 

_So, Solas, tell me._

Eirwen grinned. 

_What will happen if I never try to fly?_

Wheeling, flinging her arms wide, she ran another three steps, watching the great expanse of the Emerald Grave’s horizon stretch out before her. _Yes._ Eirwen saw the tips of great pines, the swaying heads of distant giants. _Today._ A lonely tower stood at the pinnacle of a far off hill. The sun and the bluest gray-blue of a late morning sky. _I think._ Her left foot smashed into the rough stone. 

_I’ll fly._

And launched out into open air.


	5. The Boy Who Cried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas lets his emotions get the best of him. Lavellan is confused and hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments and kudos! They are so appreciated!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Nothing at all. It all belongs to Bioware. I hope you enjoy the small changes I make to canon and any past I invent for the ancient elves.

The late afternoon sun drifted west, wide yellow-rays sliding down through overhead foliage and casting long leaf shaped shadows across the muddy path. Hand pushing aside a set of branches from a particularly tall bush, Solas pushed toward a clearing. In the distance, he could hear raging water. Crushing white spray glimmering silver as it caught in flashes of sunbeams. He saw two cliffs rising jutting up into the blue northern sky.

He inhaled, breathing in the scent of cooked meat. It wafted through the trees, traveling on south on an easy breeze. Behind it, echoes of familiar laughter.

Solas swallowed.

Cole lifted his head, sniffing the air. Nose swinging this way and that in the manner of a wounded animal as he tracked the smell. “Rabbit,” the boy murmured.

“Smells good,” Varric muttered, from his position at the back. “Could’ve done with a little of that this morning.”

Cole cocked his head. “He cooked it for her.”

“Who did kid?”

The spirit’s voice dropped to a whisper, so low Solas realized only he could hear. “The Deceiver.”

 _Deceiver?_ Solas swallowed. _Fear and Deceit?_ No. He had seen no sign of ravens. _Dirthamen?_ It had only been a dream and he did not dream of what would be. Only what was. Solas stepped forward, wanting to ask Cole what he meant, but the question hung on his tongue. He could not do so in a place where Varric might overhear.

“Kid?”

Jabbing a long bony finger toward their destination, Cole said, “him.”

Solas followed the direction the finger lead, through the trees and out into the clearing. The red-orange light of a fire glimmered between the tree trunks and next to it he saw a familiar orange bob of hair. Eirwen faced away from him, sitting cross-legged beside a cookpot. One hand held a skinned hare spitted through with a steel rod, the other picking bits of meat off the side. A smile yanked her lips sideways as she lifted the meal to her lips and took a bite. Eyes fixed on something, someone, obscured by branch and bush.

Healthy. Hale. Happy.

Relief surged through him and Solas leaned against his staff. Fingers tightening, white to the bone. _She is safe._

“So,” Varric muttered. Heavy footsteps brought the durgen’len to his side. “Anyone here got an idea why she’s mostly naked?”

Solas’ heart slammed to an immediate and sudden stop. Naked?

“She plunged,” Cole replied.

His eyes jerked back to Eirwen, sitting on the grass, the pale flesh of her thighs clearly visible even through the trees and grass. One leg uncurled to stretch toward the fire. She was entirely naked from the waist down. Pants hung up behind her on triangle of branches set to create a makeshift clothesline, her staff rested on the ground at her side. The mail of the Warden armor was unhooked, gleaming red and orange in the firelight. Turquoise sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, leather gloves missing. It hung open, exposing the line of her neck all the way down to the initial curve of her breasts. The silver pendant she wore beneath her clothes swung forward, sweeping back and forth like a pendulum.

_She truly is quite…_

“Dark and wet, heart stopping inhalation of weight crushed, submerged to victory.”

“She went for a swim?” Varric shook his head. “Great.”

So, she had undressed because she swam. Not because she was… not with anyone. _Other than the one who cooked the meat for her._ Had she gone for a swim with him?

In his mind, he watched Eirwen emerging from the crystal blue pool, pushing a hand through slick hair. Water drizzling down her stomach, pooling in belly-button before sliding down beneath the hem of her… a soft sigh escaped Solas.

“Try not to get distracted, Chuckles,” Varric murmured at his elbow.

Something was said, something he could not make out.

Eirwen threw her head back. Warm laughter rang through the clearing.

Solas felt his own lips dragged into an answering smile. He could not help it. Even with a suspicion of dread sneaking in to shadow his heart, her earnest fervor was infectious. “Shall we interrupt them?” he asked, mildly. “Or do we stand here, forever discussing what shape our entrance might take?”

“I say we go,” Varric said. “Can’t spend all day waiting.” Solas felt a rough glove clap him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Chuckles, we’ll send the kid in first. Embarrass her a little. Take some of the heat off.”

Solas laughed. “You believe the Inquisitor will be angry with us, Varric?”

“If we interrupted fun time, maybe,” Varric replied.

Solas paused. _Fun time?_ He couldn’t possibly mean…

Eirwen’s yelp startled him from his thoughts.

His head swung up. Cole was already gone.

“Cole!”

Solas watched her leap to her feet. One hand sweeping down to brush bits of grass from her legs. Her sky blue eyes jumping past the boy to search the forest. Pale white underwear, a v of coarse fabric hung loose between her legs and slung low across her hips. Thighs squeezed tight. Teeth sunk into her lower lip, her hand dropped to cover herself.

Suddenly, his mouth felt very dry.

A black shadow passed away from her side, the familiar shape of a bird. It began stalking away.

Solas blinked. _A raven._

“And there’s our cue,” Varric laughed.

He didn’t have time to think. Varric’s hand caught on his shoulder blade and thrust him forward into the clearing.

 

—-

 

“Cole!” Eirwen leaped to her feet, face flaming.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Cole eyes went round as saucers. Large bony hands jumping to his face, he immediately spun away. “I didn’t see!”

“It’s all right!”

One hand clutched her breakfast, or lunch, or possibly even her dinner close to her chest. Free hand moved to cover her privates. Her eyes seized on the woods, looking for familiar horns. If Cole was here, then the others… _Solas…_ wouldn’t be far behind. _I don’t have clothes!_ Her pants were taking forever to dry. _What if he gets the wrong impression? What if he thinks Harel and I…_ she stopped, grinding her molars together. _It doesn’t matter. It was just one kiss, Eirwen. A kiss in a dream. A dream!_ She drew in a deep breath. Yes, it had only been in a dream. No reason to worry. _Besides, he’ll be way angrier that I left at all._ Right. It wasn’t like he cared about who she spent time with in a half-naked state. Right? Right. _He looks down his nose at Dalish practices anyway._

A snicker brought her eyes left. Harel covered his mouth with his hands, gaze sliding down her waist to the curve of her underwear. “If I say very right?” he asked. His wide shoulders shook. “Will you murder me, Herald?”

 _I think we’re a little too comfortable now,_ Eirwen thought.

“He sees her flesh. Soft and white. A salivating mouth, a word whispered on his t—”

She whipped around. “Shut up!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Not you, Cole!” Her eyes closed, roast rabbit filling her nose. Her tongue swiping the top of her mouth, she sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t mean you.” Eyes opening, they narrowed on Harel and she jabbed her meal at his chest. “I mean _you_!”

“Here.” One languid hand reached out and grabbed her pants off the rank, then Harel tossed them over the fire. A grin tugged from ear to ear. “These will help.”

_He’s laughing!_

“Sorry we’re late, Inquisitor,” Varric’s voice hit her burning ears. “We got a little lost on the back trails.”

 _No._ Biting down on her lower lip, she stumbled as her hand stopped stretching for her pants. They jumped back to cover her privates. She spun back, cheeks burning, eyes landing on her short dwarven friend and the very uncomfortable looking bald elf beside him. Knees clicked together. Thighs pressed tight. Cheeks hot and tingling, ears burning red. “Solas…” the words escaped her lips, soft and breathy. “I…um…”

She swallowed.

Solas inclined his head, face a stiff and impenetrable mask. “It is good to see you safe, da’len.” He leaned his staff against his shoulder, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Are you at all injured?”

“No,” she managed. “I’m not.”

“Excellent,” Solas replied. “Then you should have little difficulty making the journey back to camp.” His eyes moved, sliding from her face to flick across the rest of her body. Both brows rising just a little higher. “Ideally while clothed, of course.”

 _It’s like he doesn’t even notice._ Eirwen wasn’t entirely sure which stung more the cool disregard or the utter lack of any visible interest. Her lashes stung. Biting her cheek, Eirwen looked away. _Well,_ she thought. _If that’s how he wants to play it._ Lifting her chin, she dropped her hand and sucked in a deep breath. _I will not be shamed. I am not a child._

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she said.

“Probably for the best,” Varric said. “If we don’t get back soon, Bull might rip apart the rest of the Graves looking for us.”

“In the meantime,” Eirwen continued. “I have a promise I made to a friend and involves Inquisition business. It should be dealt with first.”

Behind her, she heard the scuffle of Harel’s boots on dirt. “It can wait a day or two, Inquisitor.” And felt a flopping bit of fabric hit her thigh. “Longer even. Without help that lock won’t budge.”

Calmly, with as much dignity as she could muster, she let her fingers drop and brush the offering of pants. “Thank you, Harel,” Eirwen said. “But with Red Templars, Venatori, and whatever other monstrosities are wandering the area digging up ancient elven artifacts, I’m not sure we can afford to wait.”

Solas’ eyes narrowed and grew harder.

“Besides,” Eirwen said. Drawing herself up, she drew in another deep breath and stubbornly lifted her chin. “A promise is a promise, and a bet is a bet. I pay my debts.” Her gaze swung to Varric, fixing him sternly with what she hoped was a direct gaze. “You wouldn’t cut and run on one you owed, would you?”

Varric coughed. His golden-brown eyes swung from her to Solas, then to Cole. “I… may not be the best person to ask about that.”

She narrowed her eyes and moved to Solas. “What about you?”

“It depends on to whom the debt was owed,” Solas replied. “What was owed, of course, and whether they were worthy of,” he paused. Impenetrable gray-blue eyes refocusing past her, to the man on her right, on Harel. “Whatever payment was required.”

Eirwen swallowed. “Well,” she said. “I’m the one who gets to decide that.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Inclining his head, he offered her a slight bow. “I am only trying, in my own small way, to be of service.” Turning heel, he strode from the clearing. “If my help is no longer immediately required, I will begin the journey back to camp.”

“Solas!”

But he was gone.

Fluttering turquoise caught in the corner of her eyes. _Oh right._ Her eyes dropped, fabric of the pants. Reaching out, she plucked them from Harel’s fingers. _I’m still half-naked._ The other elf smiled at her. It was a sad smile, consoling. Commiserating.

He understood.

Eirwen sighed. Solas wasn’t Dalish and non-Dalish… they just didn’t understand.

Varric’s hand clapped her shoulder and gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t we figure this out back at camp, huh?”

Eirwen closed her eyes. She hated this feeling, this vulnerability. Left alone, in front of everyone, listening as his scorn set fire to her cheeks. _He talked in the tone he reserves for Vivienne._ Eirwen tightened her jaw. _Stop it, Eirwen._ Now was not the time to dwell.

Turning to Varric, she smiled. “Preferably, while fully dressed?”

“Probably helpful,” Varric laughed. Then, he patted her shoulder. “But not necessary.”

Leaning down, she wrapped one arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a small hug. Pressing her cheek to the side of his face, she whispered, “thanks, Varric.”

“Don’t mention it, kiddo,” he said. “It’s why I’m here.”

She released him slowly, rough stubble scraping against her cheek. Straightening, Eirwen glanced up at the sky. The sun loomed on the western horizon, they were well into late afternoon. _We’ll have to travel fast if we’re going to get back to camp before dark._ Doable, she knew. Just hard. Her fingers tightened on her pants. “We should get going.”

“Sounds good,” Varric said. “I’ll go after Chuckles, make sure he didn’t break something.” The dwarf paused. “Or… blow something up. Or blow your new friend up.”

“Thanks,” Eirwen said.

An elbow nudged her ribs. “If he cares about you, he’ll get over it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Well,” Varric grinned. “New boy ain’t so bad. He got a name?”

“Harel,” said the voice from behind her shoulder.

With a sigh, Eirwen brought her damp pants around and stuck one leg through her pants. Then, she followed through with the other. Tightening, the belt she straightened. Eyes swung back to the fire to locate her boots. Those, at least, would be dry.

“Huh,” Harel said. “You do put them on one leg at a time.”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Varric asked mildly.

Sighing, Eirwen scrubbed her forehead. “Varric meet Harel, he’s already met Cole.”

“And Chuckles,” Varric chuckled.

“Better introductions soon, I expect,” Harel said. He stepped past her as she turned to her boots. Felt the slightest warm pressure of his thighs when his hip bumped against her.

She bit into her cheek. It was best if she just left them to it. Harel was a hunter, a rogue, and from what little she’d seen skilled with both a bow and daggers. Rogues had their own way of feeling each other out. _Besides, Varric and Bull have the best bullshit detectors._ Cole too, if she could read between the cryptic. Of them all though, Varric was the most reliable. She’d learned to trust his instincts. _If he clears him, then he’s good._ Even if he didn’t… _We still need to go to that temple._

“Nice crossbow,” Harel said.

“Nice bird,” Varric replied.

Sitting back on her log, she grabbed her boots. Pulling on her left, she began to do up the buckles. Her eyes swinging across the clearing. Harel’s raven settled on his shoulder, he’d already gathered up his pack. The two were heading off toward the edge of the clearing. Glancing over at Cole, Eirwen bit her lip. He stood in the corner, staring at his feet. His eyes were glazed, hands still pressed to his face. Obviously still distressed. Strange, she thought, for both Varric and Solas to ignore him.

Varric glanced over his shoulder and she caught his wink. “Come on, bird boy,” he called as he slung Bianca over his shoulder and started off after Solas. “We’ll get better acquainted on the way.”

Eirwen nodded and pulled on her second boot. “Give me a minute,” she said. “I’ll catch up.”

“Just don’t run off again!” He yelled back. “We’re already six seconds off losing Chuckles!”

She sighed, finishing with the straps. _I deserved that._ She collected her staff and straightened her jerkin. Then, she walked over toward Cole. The spirit boy didn’t move, barely even seemed aware that she was there. “Cole?” she touched his shoulder.

The boy jumped, spinning around to face her. “Yes?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Can’t say,” Cole whispered. “Didn’t see.”

Gently, she put an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry if I worried you,” Eirwen said.

“Not your fault,” Cole replied softly. “The dreams came back.”

Drawing him close, she let him rest his head on her shoulder. Brim of his hat bent, folded in and pinched against her neck. Cole closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. “It was dark where you were.” She rested her chin on the top of his head. “I couldn’t see, I didn’t like it.”

“Let’s get back to camp.”

“Yes.” He nodded, then fixed her with wide yellow eyes. “But,” he paused. “You won’t be safe there.”

“Probably,” Eirwen agreed. Slowly, she began to walk him toward the trees. “Am I safe anywhere?”

“No,” Cole shook his head. “They don’t see.” His voice grew smaller, tighter, and a little more wistful. “The song knows where you live.”

She closed her eyes and hugged him tighter. “It’ll be okay,” she said.

“Probably.”

 

—-

 

 _It is impossible!_ Yes. It was impossible. The man walking ahead of him side by side with Varric so easily could not be the man he knew, the one he recognized. _Harel cannot be Deceit._ A sigh escaped him and he shook his head. That was not completely true, he might be Fear. _They are both dead._

Solas had never been able to keep the twins straight. The name meant the same. Their faces also identical. _Harel and Harel, Dirthamen’s little joke._ Named after himself, taken from the base and using the true meaning. Dirthamen’s tricksters. He had seen it all too often in Dirthamen’s temple. That face carved on so many statues, the raven with the head of a man. One of Dirthamen’s closest, most trusted, and most subservient servants.

Solas swallowed. Was the raven on his shoulder the other? Fear or Deceit shapeshifted into its traditional legendary form? Was it merely a simple raven? Were both alive? Or just one? He had no answer.

 _Last I saw Harel,_ he swallowed. _I drove the blade of my staff through his throat._

The mop of black hair flat on the crystalline floor, crimson blood pooling beneath a white neck. His lifeless black eyes open and staring sideways, mouth open in surprise.

He dreamed of Dirthamen taking the Inquisitor and now Harel appeared, face still marked with the Lord of Secret’s vallaslin, to insert himself into their party. He still declared his allegiance to all who had the eyes to see. _What does he want?_ His eyes swung, searching the forest. He had some idea. _Eirwen._ The image of his dream rose up out of the depth of his mind. Eirwen Lavellan standing with Dirthamen’s hands clapped across her face, holding out the eyes like a sacrificial lamb lead to slaughter. _What was the bet? Why did she make it? How did she lose it? What is the price?_ His voice throttled his already tight throat. _How could she be so foolish?_

 _How can you blame her for her ignorance?_ His more rational side countered. _She cannot know, he is taking advantage of her._

At least, Harel had given no sign he recognized him. That did not surprise, Solas. He looked different now, bald instead of brown waist length hair bound in small, tight braids. The lines around his face and eyes were deeper, harder. He no longer walked with the easy, languid stride that characterized his youth.

 _I must discover what he wants with her._ Clearly, the Inquisitor was his target. He dressed in the blues of an Inquisition scout. He had approached under the guise of a Dalish elf, one who wore his slave marks proudly in order to win her trust. Once she trusted someone, once she let them in, Solas swallowed, it was nearly impossible to excise them. _He will cling to her like barnacle to the belly of a great whale._ She would not shake Harel loose while he lived. _While she lives,_ he corrected himself. Harel could only be chasing her for the same reason Corypheus did. _He must want the Anchor._ What did he plan to do with it? The Anchor was attached to Eirwen’s soul. It could not be removed.

He nearly shook his head. _I’ve left myself in a poor situation._ Eirwen believed he was angry with her. _I am. Furious._

Coming to a stop next to a tree, he lay his hand against the bark. The sharp diagonal patterning cut into his hand and he bit his cheek. It was pain, pain he deserved for being so damned foolish.

“Solas?”

His head yanked up. Glancing back over his shoulder, he swallowed. Eirwen stood behind him, her arms crossed over her chest. The staff on her back glittered with a clear white light. Her blue eyes glittered, reflecting the same color as her turquoise armor. “Inquisitor,” he said. Carefully, he kept his voice mild. “What is it a lowly one such as I can do for you?”

The moment they left his mouth, he regretted them.

Those wide, marvelous eyes narrowed. “I was going to apologize,” Eirwen said. “But no,” she shook her head, “tel’abelas, Solas. I’m not sorry.”

“You are not sorry, da’len?” he asked. He took a step toward her. “You rush off, left no word of where you went, fill us all with worry for your safety, frighten me half to death, and you are not sorry?”

Eirwen blinked. “Scared you?”

“Yes!” His hands were out before he could stop himself. The image of her sitting with Harel flashing in his mind. The moment the black haired elf had stood, the moment he smiled. The grin she had given him. They closed on her shoulders. “You alone are…” he trailed off.

She let out a bark of laughter, shaking her head. “The only one capable of stopping Corypheus,” Eirwen growled. “I know.”

“Yes!” He yelled. “You are the only one. Every time you race off like a child because a few nightmares—”

A hard slap caught him across the jaw.

Solid and ringing in his ears, he stumbled back. He glanced up, ready to yell but the words died on his lips.

Tears leaked down Eirwen’s cheeks, spilling from eyelids brimming with shining water. Her eyes weren’t on him, they were on her hand. Staring at the reddened palm like it had betrayed her.

Solas felt his rage die. Lifting his cool hand, he pressed to his cheek as sorrow welled up in his belly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He watched as she sucked a deep breath in through her nose. He could see the doors behind her eyes slamming shut. Her fingers clenching into an angry fist. “You’re right. It was reckless and foolish, stupid even. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, da’len,” he stepped forward again. He reached for her, but she pulled back. The hurt evident in her eyes. He stopped short, drawing his hand to his chest. “No, the fault is mine. My words were unkind.”

“I’m never going to be perfect, Solas,” she said. Her voice was very small. “I’m trying the best I can.”

 _And we all expect so much from you,_ Solas thought. _You carry all our burdens on your shoulders._ His stomach tightened, twisted. _I wish you would trust me._ He forgot so often that she had been thrown into the river’s deepest and swiftest current and told to swim. _I hope you never do._ He admired how well she’d done, especially with how little she had to begin with. “I know.”

“Maybe,” she began, “maybe we can talk again when we’ve both calmed down?” A small smile twitched on her lips. “We’ll probably speak more rationally.”

“Yes,” Solas heard himself say. The stiffness still hadn’t left his voice. “I believe that would be wise.”

She nodded. Turning heel, she moved ahead.

Solas watched her retreating back, his eyes fixed on her shoulders, the curve of her neck, the way she held herself high. Gaze flicking to search for signs of physical injury, any indication of pain. Once again, he had hurt her. _I must apologize,_ he thought. _I am angry with myself, angry that I did not see._ Carrion birds were circling her and he had let them in the front gate. _Are they responsible for her nightmares?_

“I am here for you,” Solas murmured. “Why is it so hard to say?”

Only of the silence of the woods was there to answer him.

“Well, well, Falon’fen.”

Solas spun. _Friend of the Wolves?_

Harel leaned against a tree, his head tilted to the side, watching him. Arms crossed over his chest, an apple in one hand and a small knife in another. “You certainly bungled that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we took a sharp turn straight into angst-ville, I blame Cascada. Seriously, I do. I really wasn’t expecting Lavellan to hit Solas, but hey, the meaner the angst the sweeter the fluff. (Don’t hit me!) I do like writing other ancient elves torturing Solas because really… yeah, it’s fun. Also, Harel is a dick.The next chapter will probably be fun too!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one. Have a happy new year, everyone!


	6. To Fall is Beneath You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas faces off against Harel, who knows more than he should. Eirwen deals with her friends teasing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and the kudos, they do mean a lot to me.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : I own nothing. Nada. None of these characters are mine, except maybe Harel. They all belong to Bioware. You could probably even steal Harel if you liked. He goes home with anyone.

Swallowing, Solas straightened. _There is no question of it now,_ he thought. Harel did know him, did recognize him. _Friend of the Wolves._ A play on Falon’din, Friend of the Dead. Just as Harel was a base for Fen’harel. _The ancient joke lives on._ And its razor edge still bit deep.

“Harel,” he said.

“Thought I was dead?” A grin cut across the other man’s mouth. His head inclined, then he looked away. “Not surprised. I do it well.” Carving a bit of skin off his apple, he took a bite. “Really, though, Falon’fen.” Teeth sinking into the crisp surface, teeth ripped away the outside flesh. “You’re easy an easy mark. Three thousand years later and here you are, still failing to check your facts.” A warm, rich laugh shivered in the air. “You really should try to improve.”

“Ah,” Solas said. “I see you have already declared victory.” He lifted his chin. “Here I believed the game had only begun.”

“Careful, Falon’fen.” Harel chuckled. “Careful.”

“Do I have reason to be?”

“No,” the other elf said. “Merely warning you that someone unexpected might steal your bright and shiny toys. Or one,” He added. “That special toy you covet and hide in the corner, all the while setting fire to anyone else who tries to play.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Solas snapped. “And if I did, I would remind you that there are no toys here. Only people.”

“The Herald’s pretty shiny, you know.” Harel paused, then heavy eyelids drooped into a low, slow, bird blink. “I mean, you never know. Do you?”

Solas stiffened. What did he mean? “Are you that unexpected someone?” he asked. “For, I find I am not yet caught unaware.” _Is he actually admitting that he’s planning to steal the Inquisitor?_

Harel was an expert thief and assassin. He’d once stolen Andruil’s golden bow, carried it through Sylaise’s temple naked while riding backwards on a drufflo. It had been during one of her Harvest ceremonies, Solas remembered. When it reached the dais, he sprang to his feet, balanced perfectly on the creature’s back, and the golden bow on the hearth’s centerpiece. Then, he bowed to thundering applause. A distraction. At the same moment, another stole into Elgar’nan’s temple and took some ancient piece, some precious secret. In the current climate, stealing a single woman, no matter how well guarded, would pose little challenge.

 _Why?_ Why would Harel ever admit to a plan unless he intended to throw Solas off the scent?

“Perhaps,” Harel replied and his gaze went west.

Eyes flicking to the trees, Solas listened. He heard the sound of feet crunched on roots, dirt, and grass in the distance but no one close enough to hear them speak. If they took too long, one of the others would come back to check. Solas found himself hoping it would be Cole, likely the young spirit would be his only immediate ally.

“He’s not coming,” Harel said.

 _There, I fell for it._ “Excuse me?” Solas snapped. _Where is that other bird?_ Was he at camp? _Is he the other Harel, or is it just a bird?_ Whether it was one or two, either way, they were all in danger.

“Your spirit kid,” Harel replied. “Too scared. He’s shadowing Big Sis. Or,” he paused, “is she his Momma?” He tapped his skull. “No, can’t be. You haven’t spilled your guts yet.” Carving another strip of skin off the red apple, Harel let it drop to the forest floor. “I know! You want to confess, but you’re scared she’ll reject you. So, you’re running away with tail tucked between your legs. Right? That’s how it goes. Classic.” His head tilted back, springy mop of black hair pressing against tree bark. “It’s all in my head. Can’t keep it straight.”

Opening his mouth, Solas exhaled heavily. _I should ask what he’s done,_ he thought. He’d forgotten Harel’s perverse sense of humor. _And his habit of never silencing himself._ The raven man coated true intentions behind meaningless, nattering chatter. _How does he know so much? So quickly? How long has he been following us?_

“I’m not surprised you started adopting. I mean, I am but not.” He chuckled. “You always did like your strays.” Mouth twisting, he crossed one booted foot over the other. Knife tapping against his breastplate. “Now, your dear Inquisitor? Will she come back?” Staring at the red apple in his hand, his lips pulled to the side and he shrugged. “Maybe.” And took another bite. Then, he brightened. Black eyes swung back. “Speaking of! She’s a curious little thing, isn’t she? Bright, inquisitive, hopeful, intelligent, and very sweet, reminds me of well…” he paused. “No. Not you.”

Solas’ upper lip began to curl. The image of Dirthamen’s shadow hands pressed across Eirwen’s eyes flashed through his mind. A strange feeling clawed up through his throat. A dark bloody fury, his fingers clenched at his side, the same emotion that swept him after Wisdom’s murder. _Harel is not one of those ignorant, mindless Circle mages._ He could not simply hurl a fireball at him and be done with it. How easy it would be if that were possible! Harel said these things to frustrate and distract him. _I cannot let him know he does._ “She is not the subject of this discussion, Harel.”

“Really?” Harel tilted his head. “What is this all about, then?”

He inhaled, letting the rage spill coolly from his center. “What do you want?”

“To stop Corypheus, of course.” Harel’s shoulders lifted in a bird shrug. His eyes were wide and innocent. His tone bland. “What else could it be?”

 _No,_ Solas felt his tongue press against the roof of his mouth. _This is not about a Tevinter magister._ “Perhaps,” he said. “I suspect it has more to do with your master’s imprisonment and the mark upon the Inquistor’s hand. I suppose, you would like to see him freed?”

“Don’t trust me, Falon’fen?” Harel’s tongue twisted and he hissed a soft _tsk, tsk._ “Always looking for nefarious motives in a poor man’s honest attempt in saving the world.” He chuckled. “I’m wounded. Deeply.”

“I do not need to search for a quality that is ever-present,” Solas said. “The Temple is Dirthamen’s, is it not? Tell me what you want.”

“With the Herald?” Harel grinned. “She and I? Me and she? We’re birds of a feather,” he said. He swung around a tree, arm outstretched to take another bite from his apple. The turn finished and Harel faced him. Knife blade tapping the side of his long nose as he added, “We must flock together.”

Solas frowned. Was he referring to the vallaslin?

“Question is, what is she to you? Not your lover. Not yet. Not even your type. Mage. Scholar. Quick tongue, clever mind, oh-so-smart, dreamy-dreamer eyes, adventurous, with just enough shades of a roguish charm to chase after my own heart. She’s wild and free, reckless to a fault.” He leaned forward. Black brows lifted. “A little ray of sunshine shimmering on one dried up old lakebed.”

“My emotions can hardly be of any interest to you.”

“And yet they are,” Harel said. He turned and hopped down onto the path. As usual, his steps were light, almost graceful. He left no footprints behind. He laughed. “Our Inquisitor is certainly no Andruil.”

Solas twitched. There were few women in the whole of Thedas he wanted to think of less than Andruil.

“Ha! Andruil. Just imagine what she’ll do when she finds out.”

Solas did not have to imagine. He knew and the thoughts were not comforting. “Nothing pleasant, I am sure,” he said. “Andruil and I have not been… involved in a very long time.”

“You were close right up until the end,” Harel said.

“Of course!” Solas spat. “You should remember the exact moment our relationship ended!”

“Yeah, too bad about that,” Harel said. “Did she sour your perspective? You used to love those vengeful, tough, sweat slicked, hardened hunter types. Opposites attract, you know.” He paused, then used the tip of his blade to scratch his chin. “Though you did love all the ladies. Lots of them.”

Solas flinched.

“I even remember Andruil stringing a few up by their toes after carving away their skin. Left them hanging to scream in all the places where you could find them.” Harel chuckled. “Always led to some kind of reconciliation.”

“It was my mistake,” Solas snapped. “I should have seen her for what she was.”

“You wanted to believe she could change. Listened to the better spirits of your nature.” Harel shrugged. “I understand. She’d have been a valuable ally, if you could convince her.”

“It was not possible.”

“You just weren’t enough,” Harel said. “Love wasn’t enough. It happens, Falon’fen.”

Solas glanced at him, surprised. “Thank you,” he said, slowly. “I did not expect you to…”

“What?” Harel laughed. “Understand? Of course, I do. How could I not? All the time I spent watching.”

Solas blinked. “I should not be surprised you used to spy on me.”

“Sometimes, I used to just camp in a tree and listen to you two go at it. On all those long, early morning hours. The things she murmured,” he said. “All those sighs and low groans, then everything she spilled during the post coitus cuddling. All that stuff you never wanted me to know.” He tilted his head. “Or you never wanted to know. The stories I could tell.” His thick black eyebrows waggled. “You know, I might just.”

“Do not offer empty threats,” Solas snapped. “We both know the truth would only hinder your plans.”

“Nah,” Harel said. “Speak for yourself.” He snorted. “I don’t need our Inquisitor to trust me. She’ll do what I want regardless. _Your_ position, on the other hand, relies on entirely on trust. Shaky business that, especially with a chick who doesn’t trust anybody.”

Solas sighed. Rising blood flushed his cheeks, temples pounding. All signs of an oncoming headache.

“So, why haven’t laid the charm on yet? You used to be so smooth and Andruil’s not around to carve her into bite size chunks.”

“This is not a discussion worth having.”

“Well, I’ve heard the rumors. Seen it, too. Sensed it. She’s got your magic emblazoned on her hand, drained about a quarter of your foci into her own soul. Heard she picked it up from the Tevinter mage at Haven, somehow. Ripped open a hole right up there in the sky. That was her wasn’t it?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Solas said.

“I’m sure inquiring minds would love to know where a certain blighted Tevinter Magister got his hands on that elven artifact.”

 _And so we continue the dance of meaningless chatter,_ Solas thought. He could only be thankful the discussion moved away from his love life. Solas lifted his gaze, an odd smile hidden behind his eyes. _Harel has not changed._ It was almost as if he also only recently woke up from In Uthenara. He matched Solas’ memories to perfection, almost as if three thousand years had not gone by. As if he could turn his gaze west and see sky bound spires of crystal spearing up under the light of an evening sun.

“Where’d he get that?” Harel asked. “Does Bright and Shiny even know what it is?”

 _Do not make that assumption,_ Solas told himself. _There is no way to know._

“This is pointless, Harel,” he said. “What do you want?”

“Testy.”

He glanced away, toward what sounded like a river. There he heard the sound of laughter, Eirwen’s and Cole’s. Somewhere in the distance, Iron Bull.

“You worried? Why?” Harel laughed. “We’re just two old friends talking.” Thumb drawing down the side of his cheek, swiping away a bit of juice, Harel smirked. “Don’t fear, Falon’fen,” he said. “I won’t tell and they can’t hear us. Even if they could, I’ve already explained our acquaintance to your durgen’len friend. He’ll be letting the Herald in on the secret shortly, I’m sure.”

Solas felt his entire body go numb. “You have been sharing how we know each other?”

“Your background story was a little thin, a few sentences thin. So, I filled in the blanks. You can thank me any time.” He grinned. “Besides, the dwarf thought you stalked off because you were jealous I had fun naked times with the Bright Shiny. Can’t have that, right? You have a professional reputation to maintain among these shems.”

 _A few sentences?_ It hit him. Shapeshifter, of course. _How can I be so stupid?_

“You have been reading Leliana’s reports,” Solas said. “Was it while in your natural form or as one of the many in her rookery?”

 _Fun naked times with the Herald?_ Eirwen wouldn’t. _Not with him._

“I’ll let you guess,” Harel said. “Anyway, it goes like this. My clan visited your town often,” Harel said. “I traded there and sometimes saw you. You weren’t around much. We weren’t friends, but after Celene’s massacre of my Clan and the destruction of your town by the Civil War,” he shook his head woefully, “even finding one person I know is a blessing. Must’ve hurt you a lot to see me.”

“A shame for me then,” Solas growled. “Forced into to helping you carry out your lie.”

“The crime of the century, Falon’fen,” Harel said. He turned, heading off in the direction of the voices and tossed his apple back over his shoulder. “Truly, it is.”

The apple arced through the air and Solas held up a hand, catching it before it could land squarely on his forehead. He glanced down, eyes searching the woods for Harel but the other elf’s blue back had disappeared into the underbrush.

Solas was suddenly very much alone.

Rubbing the back of his head, Solas leaned against the nearest tree. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a deep breath. _How long has it been?_ He wondered. It felt like an age. Long enough, felt safe enough, to forget some of what haunted him. He’d forgotten Harel and his unique ability to natter. The way his endless flow of words wore on until Solas was utterly exhausted. The only person who even broached Harel’s level of annoyance in his life was Sera. _Where she is only an apprentice, Harel is a master._ He had a sixth sense for an armor’s chinks, the openings where his knife stab and draw blood. Twist. Personal details tossed about to dismay and distract. _While I leave the conversation with no idea what he’s planning. Only more questions and more worries than I had when I entered._

It involved the Inquisitor and that blasted temple. Though what they would face inside it… _I cannot guess. Harel believes he has her in a position where she won’t say no._ There had to be a way to get around it. A way to keep Harel from getting what he wanted. A way for Solas to do it without tipping his hand. _Whatever it is, it is sure to leave the world worse._ Yet, the idea a Temple dedicated to Dirthamen could be out here, it left him nervous. The Emerald Graves were full of tombs dedicated to the fallen knights of the Dales and were well outside of Dirthamen’s ancient boundaries. They were not in Falon’din’s territory either. These woods, he could not recall to whom they once belonged but it was neither of them.

 _Of course, that means very little._ Dirthamen had secret shrines and temples hidden all across the continent. _And I believed I ferreted almost all of the most dangerous ones out during the rebellion._ Clearly, he had missed one. _I have no idea where it is._ Other than his dream. _I cannot trust that._

 _There has to be a way to keep her from it._ To keep Harel from her.

He would need allies.

 _Cole, perhaps._ Harel had said he was shadowing the Inquisitor. Finding out what the young spirit suspected might help. _Leaving him to watch her might be better, at least for now._ He could trust Cole when it came to the Inquisitor’s safety. Cole would not let Harel harm Eirwen.

 _Iron Bull._ The Qunari was a spy. _What better to sniff out a spy than another spy?_ Discovering what the mercenary might uncover about Harel would be useful. _So long as he does not dig too deep._

Varric… Solas had no idea. They were friends and if he confessed any suspicions Varric might listen to him. _Then again, he may not. He often follows his own opinions and Harel is exactly the type to amuse him._

Slowly, he started off into the woods after Harel.

 _Either way, I must apologize to Eirwen._ If he was to help her, he needed her to trust him. _Harel has already outmaneuvered me once._ He could not afford for it to happen again. Still, Solas thought, he had their months of time together. He had saved her life on more than one occasion. She must trust him. _Perhaps I need to hear her side of this story._

There had to be a way to stop Harel, there had to be. He would not allow his heart to be offered up as some sacrifice to powers beyond her ken. He would not permit ignorance to steal all he loved away. Not again.

He stiffened.

_Vhenan._

His heart.

_No._

It had come so naturally.

Her warm eyes, concerned and compassionate after his return to Skyhold. Beautiful blue irises, the color of a midday sky in summer, fixed upon his. Soft lips shaping the words, _Ir abelas, Solas. I am sorry._ Her hands moving to rest on his shoulders, half-way to pulling him into a hug. _Before we both thought better of it._

How many times had he replayed that moment on cold nights as they camped in the woods? On the nights when the Fade eluded him and dreams would not come? As Varric snored loudly to his left, Cole muttering to his right, his eyes turned to face whichever tent in which she lay down her bed. Remembering those moments and the strange sensation of hope they brought with them.

He thought of those conversations even more fondly than he did the kiss in their shared dream. When her hand had caught his cheek, pulling him back as she stood tiptoe, her lips pressing to his. A chaste kiss, neither truly tentative nor determinedly forward, she knew what she wanted and did not wish to push him too far. A kiss to test the waters.

His over-eager, enthusiastic response should have been the first warning sign.

_I thought it was half-driven by loneliness._

The image of her sitting across from Harel, crossed legs lazily exposing her underwear and the centered v of her crotch. The undone buckles hanging loose, taking careful bites of cooked rabbit beside the fire and almost choking on a laugh.

His rage in the moment of recognition, a fierce and snapping beast lunging from his chest. He had nearly lunged forward seize Harel by his throat. An inappropriate action to be sure, and full of anger that had not been spawned by jealousy. No. By fear. _Fear._

Fear that she had left herself exposed and trusting in a dangerous situation with a creature she could not comprehend.

 _Harel held her life in his hands._ Solas did not know what powers Dirthamen’s creature retained through the ages, but all were enough to outmatch the Inquisitor on her own. _At any moment, he could have killed her._

While he had been nowhere near.

 _I might have lost her._ The thought of her lying broken on the ground, raven-black blade driven through her throat. Orange bangs fallen limply across her forehead. Skin white, drained of all that once held her spirit. A shattered husk. His throat squeezed tight. _I could still._

All those times, when he thought of her facing Corypheus, he had been sure they would find a way. The thought she might die in the attempt never crossed his mind. Yet, here was a being who had no care for her life. Who might discard her or strip her from her body to take the magic buried within.

A cold, dead feeling crept in, a crushing despair. In his mind’s eye, Solas saw Eirwen’s broken body lying on the black upon black floors of Dirthamen’s temples. Harel’s hands gripping her legs and arms, offering her up to whatever twisted beast the Lord of Secrets had stored away in some small pocket separated from the majority of the Fade.

Dirthamen’s laughter echoed in his ears.

 _I will have to tell her,_ Solas thought. If telling her would save her, give her a reason to trust him again, to understand his behavior then he must. He did not have a choice. _I will tell her._

 

\---

 

Scrubbing her nose, Eirwen inhaled another deep long breath. Iron Bull sat to her right, his one good eye fixed on her location. She had a feeling he watched her wherever she went and never let her know. _If I know,_ she thought, _it’s because he wants me to._ Cole was on her left, snuggled against her side like the old farmer’s cat in Wycome. It cuddled next to her lap whenever she stopped too close to the fields. Never in her lap, always next to it. _Whatever the perverse reason was, the cat kept it to itself._ She’d never really been a friend to animals or friendly with them, any of them, but for some reason that particular orange and white tabby stuck by her.

She never knew why.

“Okay, I’ve got to know,” Varric said. He sat across from her, leaned over the fire, rubbing his hands together. “What was that bet about?”

They had all clearly decided she couldn’t be trusted if left alone. _And instead of taking turns, it’s everyone watch the Inquisitor day._ Resting a free hand on Cole’s hat, she stared at the flickering orange flames. “I told you,” she said. “Breakfast.”

“I know,” Varric said. “But you leapt off a cliff to win half of a week old ration bar. There’s got to be a story in that.”

“A waterfall,” Eirwen replied. “It was a waterfall.”

“She jumped off a waterfall?” Bull asked.

“A fifty meter high waterfall leading into a river that’s not actually that deep,” Varric replied. “Could’ve broken both her legs. Or her fool head.” He shook his. “All over a ration bar, the same kind the scouts here carry. On a bet with a guy she’d only known five minutes.”

“Yeah,” Iron Bull leaned back, massive arms crossing over his equally massive bare chest. “I’m guessing there’s some story there.”

Eirwen sighed. “No, there’s not.”

“You know, you could have just come back to camp to get one,” Varric continued. “Gotten it for free. You didn’t need to go flying off waterfalls.”

“How does the rabbit figure in, though?” Iron Bull asked.

“He cooked it for her,” Cole muttered.

“No,” Eirwen said. She patted Cole’s hat. “Harel caught it and cooked it.” _I’m capable of doing stupid, dangerous stuff all on my own,_ she thought. _I don’t need wagers for that._ “Which was part of the bet.”

“So you made him do all the work,” Varric murmured. “Interesting.”

“The bet which involved breakfast?” Bull asked.

“And ended with her leaping off a waterfall to win,” Varric said.

“She tried to fly,” Cole said. There was a certain wistful awe in his voice. Like he was reliving her memories.

 _He probably is._ Eirwen pulled out her ration bar—the scouts at camp had dumped nearly thirty on her after they’d overheard Varric interrogating Harel, a clear sign they disapproved—and took a large bite. It tasted vaguely like old sawdust mixed with mud. “And I damn nearly succeeded.”

“Did I mention our Herald’s also utterly unrepentant?” Varric asked. “She already had a fight with Chuckles and he hasn’t even heard part about the waterfall yet.” A pair of blonde eyebrows waggled at her from over the fire. “Or how our new scout friend specially cooked her breakfast over a warm open fire while she watched wearing only her underwear.”

Iron Bull snorted. “You make it sound special,” he said.

“The water was cold,” Eirwen said. “I got wet.”

“Now, you’re intentionally being difficult.”

“The fire was warm,” she continued. A small, mischievous smile twitched in the corners of her lips. “The food good.”

“Hear that?” Varric laughed. “She’s mocking me!”

“You knew she had a sense of humor,” Iron Bull replied.

“Harel and I are Dalish, Varric.” Eirwen shook her head. “The Dalish do stuff like that.”

“I’m supposed to believe all Dalish jump off waterfalls for fun?” Varric picked up a cleaning cloth from his pack. “Sorry, Inquisitor, I think that’s just you.”

“Huh,” Iron Bull grunted. “Like Dalish dance under the moonlight to grow flowers.”

Swallowing, Eirwen glanced at him. She smiled. “Sometimes,” she said. “During the Vir Vallasdahlen Bellinaris,” spouting off a collection of elvish that almost made sense had become second nature to her, “we perform the traditional dances naked with a chosen partner.”

Bull laughed. “Get out!” Then, he paused. A large pink tongue wiped across thick gray lips. His good eye fixed her with a very hard stare, flicking her over for any sign of a falsehood. “You’re serious?”

Eyes wide and innocent, Eirwen nodded very slowly.

“Damn,” Bull groaned. “I need to visit Dalish camps more often.”

“Sure.” The dwarf snorted. “Well, next time, if you turn into a dragon and fly let me know.”

Eirwen laughed. “If it ever happens, Varric,” she said. “I promise I will.”

At least, she thought, if they were ganging up on her then she didn’t have time alone to think. _If I do, I’ll think about him._ And Solas was the very last person she wanted on her mind. Or else…

His voice… _You frightened me half to death…_

_You alone are…_

_The only one capable of stopping Corypheus!_

_Yes!_

_Tel’abelas!_ She told herself fiercely. _I am not sorry!_

“Inquisitor?” Varric’s voice filled her ears. “You okay?”

She felt the burn on her lashes, then wiped her eyes. “Yes.” She forced a smile, pulling one up easily, and a laugh. “Yes, just some smoke caught in my eye.”

 _Is that all I am?_ She wondered. All their friendship was? Did the extent of his concern begin and end with the mark on her hand? He kept saying how wonderful she was, how he’d been afraid she was never going to wake up, how she was a miracle, and yet. Her eyes dropped to her marked palm, to the hand resting on Cole’s back. _Are his feelings for me truly secondary to this?_ Was the Anchor what needed to be protected at all costs? Or was it her? Because he wanted her, wanted to spend time with her, wanted to be with her, and share some semblance of their mad dash lives.

When he’d kissed her, tongue plunged into her mouth, bending her back, gripping her waist. Her arms clung to him, tightly, drunk on sudden swirling passions. Emotions she didn’t know she had. _My world spun and stopped._ She wasn’t particularly romantic or poetic. Yet, in that moment, when he’d let loose that satisfied sigh, she felt herself sprout wings. _I knew I could fly._

“Ah, yeah, I see that.”

_This can only end badly._

Eirwen wiped her cheeks. She had other work to do. Her gaze rose to Varric, mouth twitching. “So, any leads on that temple?”

“Several,” Varric replied. “They all require our resident expert on elven culture and your wayward scout.”

“Is he mine now?” Eirwen asked lightly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You are both Dalish,” Varric said. “You do _things_ together.”

She inhaled, hard. A bit of ration bar catching in her lungs, sawdust and grime sweeping down the wrong side of her throat. Sputtering, Eirwen sat straight up. “N-not,” she coughed, pounding her chest rapidly. “No…”

Cole leaped off her side.

A solid thwack caught her between the shoulder blades.

The brown bit of ration flew, hitting the dirt, it bounced and rolled to the fire’s edge.

“You alright, Herald?” Harel’s voice filled her ears.

Cheeks burning, Eirwen lifted her hand and wiped spittle from her lips. “Yes,” she muttered. “I laughed… a little… too… hard.” She turned, smiling slightly. “Anyone have water?”

Around ten canteens were hurriedly thrust under her nose.

“Ma serannas.”

 

\---

 

Solas entered the camp, mouth set and determined. He knew what he would be asking and it was unfair of him to even consider it, especially now. _I must apologize. She will understand._ She would. She had to. _There is very little she has to do,_ he reminded himself. _I cannot demand. I must ask, I must approach her. I cannot wait in the shadows for the correct moment, especially not with Harel on the prowl._

He saw them around the fire. A group of five, Eirwen Lavellan at the center as usual. Her head turned back over her shoulder, loose bits of orange hair plastered to her forehead. Her cheeks burned bright red. She looked up at a tall elf, the dark haired male leaned over her with a concerned expression. His hand rested on her shoulder. A faint smile brushed her lips.

 _Harel,_ Solas thought. _Already?_ His heart sank. _Yes, of course._ His poor timing preceded him as usual. There was no guessing what the tall elf might be telling her. _He would not mention…_ Stomach twinging with the sudden onset of misery, he turned his gaze to the rest of the group.

And stopped.

Cole was staring at Harel with a horrified expression.

Varric was half way to his feet.

“Forget water, Boss!” Iron Bull yelled. “Crack open a cask!”

Solas’ footsteps carried him forward. _What happened?_

“This time, Inquisitor, I’m not kidding,” Varric said. “You’ve got terrible luck.”

“Divinely bad,” Eirwen replied. Her thick, hoarse voice carried over the rest of the camp. Her fingers reached out and she took the first canteen offered. Lifting it to her lips, she downed portion with a long swig. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she sighed. “I know.”

“What is wrong, da’len?” His feet brought him to her side, and then he was leaning down. He felt the back of her hand flatten on his stomach, her head twisting to stare up at him, utterly oblivious that her forearm pressed between his legs. Her knuckles just a little too low. He swallowed, very slowly.

She leaned back into him and he felt her sigh.

“Nothing,” Eirwen said. Her low voice cracked, shivering in the air. Another small cough escaped her.

 _She cannot be sick,_ Solas thought. His fingertips brushed her temple, reflexively checking for fever. _A cold from the swim?_ If that were true, it set in too early.

Varric fixed the Inquisitor with a hard stare. “What she means, Chuckles, when she says nothing is that she almost choked. Nearly suffered death by ration bar.”

Her arm stiffened on his abdomen. “T-tha…not true,” she whispered hoarsely.

Varric’s arms crossed. “Just like she went leaping off that fifty foot waterfall we saw this morning.”

Solas felt his eyes narrow.

“Apparently it was all over a bet,” Iron Bull added.

“Which had nothing to do with a temple,” Varric threw in.

“Something about winning half a ration bar.”

“For breakfast.”

“Which almost killed her five seconds ago!” Varric said, his fist landed on his thigh with a triumphant thump.

“Varric!” Eirwen exclaimed.

“Da’len.” The word escaped Solas’ throat in a low, rumbling growl. He reached down and gripped both her arms, gently but firmly hauling her to her feet. “Come with me.”

He heard her cry of protest. In that moment, however, he found he did not care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Harel's a dick. I hope you enjoyed their verbal tussle. I think Solas ended up doing most of the flailing, which isn't surprising as Harel's the one whose got him by the short hairs.
> 
> I had no idea they were going to have that conversation about Andruil. She's been on my mind, but I didn't know what I wanted to do with her. She is his past toxic relationship, his betrayer, the one member of the gods I think this Solas wanted most desperately to see the error of her ways. The one he wanted to save, who he convinced himself he could and stayed in a bad situation far longer than he should. Well, that's okay I think. You can't have a conversation about finding new loves without working through the old ones. Solas's arc in this story is not about him falling in love, he already is. He has been since Haven. It's the slow realization and eventual decision of what he's going to do about it. Of course, there may be a few more distractions getting in the way!
> 
> I hope you guys like Harel (because he's gonna be here a while). I enjoy writing him. He's tricksy and mysterious. I think I laughed all the way through his conversation with Solas. Solas doesn't have enough characters in his life going "yeah, yeah, I know you and I'm gonna give you shit over it". I know OC characters can be challenging, though delving into the time of Arlathan involves inventing a whole slew of extra characters already.
> 
> Writing this chapter was a lot of fun for me, I hope reading it was fun for you!


	7. She Made a Tattoo of Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Lavellan hash out some much needed discussion points. Varric has a discussion with Harel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mithranaka, Lunar47, Beelzeneef, and MissOwl for their lovely comments! And to all of you who've left kudos! I really appreciate them!  
>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not even Eirwen. It all belongs to Bioware. Harel might be mine (a little bit) but he goes home with anybody.

“Da’len,” the word burned in her ears. Solas’ arms hooked beneath hers and pulled Eirwen to her feet. His hands were warm and gentle as they gripped her. “Come with me.”

“Solas!” Eirwen exclaimed. Her heart pounded on her ribcage.

She let him haul her to her feet. Stepping carefully over a log as his hands slid out from under her arms and shifted across her back. Then, his flat palms moved upward, shifting fabric and warm breath left a thrill racing up her spine. Finally, they settled on her shoulders. Then, he was steering her away from the fire.

“If I had to guess, Chuckles,” Varric called. She felt his brown eyes, lightly flickering with golden trails in his irises, shift over her face. He clearly hadn’t missed the same brush of fingertips on her temple that left her skin buzzing. “I’d say Bright Eyes was coming down with something. She’s looking a little peaked.”

“Flushed,” Iron Bull said.

“Sneezed,” Cole added. “Three times. Someone was thinking.”

Eirwen narrowed her eyes. _I can’t believe them!_ They were purposefully trying to… do something, she wasn’t sure what. It felt like they were intentionally antagonizing Solas. _I’m going to find out!_

“Must’ve been all that cold water,” Varric said. “I hear the Graves are chilly this time of year.”

“And,” Harel added. His blithe voice ringing in her ears. “She insisted on hanging out naked by a fire for the better part of four hours.”

Solas’ fingers dug into her collarbone.

Eirwen thought she heard Varric mutter, “not helping, Bird Boy.”

“Because my pants were drying,” she said. “It’s better than wearing wet pants!”

“I disagree,” he paused as if he was swallowing some other word, then continued, “ _da’len._ The most prudent course of action would simply have been not to jump.”

“You’re no fun,” Eirwen grumbled.

A gentle push brought her to her tent. “Perhaps, I merely prefer the thought of you alive to the alternative,” he said.

“Works, I guess.” Eirwen reached out and undid the tent flaps. She felt her backside brush up against his thighs and the curve of his hips. Biting her lip, she tried to keep her fingers focused on the task at hand. “The real question is…” His were settling impatiently on the small of her back. “Just how alive do you want me?”

Solas chuckled. “That is a good question.”

Slowly, she lifted the flap. His thumb barely, just barely, brushed against the base of her spine. She repressed a jerk, the jerk which would leave her bumping him.

“And I suppose you believe leaping off cliffs to be a necessary part of living.”

Eirwen swallowed, suppressing a shiver. There, a sudden heat burning in her core. _Probably accidental,_ she thought. They’d just had a fight. She’d just hit him. _He can’t have forgiven me already._ Calmly, she walked inside her tent. Solas’ hands and the warmth of his waist drifted away. “Just living?” she asked. “No.”

Inside, someone had already lit a small brazier. Set out a tall cot, instead of just a bedroll. They’d also erected a small desk. _Already piled with missives._ Eirwen smiled. Gone a day and everything went to hell. She enjoyed the tents, they were made for humans and far more luxurious in size than anything she’d grown up with.

Eirwen turned. “But,” she peered at Solas as he dropped the tent flap behind them. “It depends. Do you want to live? Or would you rather be alive?”

He turned, a smile quirked his lips. “I believe I am beginning to understand the distinction,” he said. “Sit.”

Eirwen rolled her eyes. “Solas, I’m fine.”

“Da’len.” His hands rested on her shoulders and she glanced up into stormy irises. His head tilted slightly, the usual expression he made when she was being foolish. Irritation, yes, and concern there also.

 _Worry too._ Lifting her hand, she lay it gently against his cheek. “Are you all right?”

He frowned, yet she caught the beginnings of a faint smile on his lips. “That is the question I should be asking you,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed.

Solas sighed. “I am well.” One hand rubbed his brow. “It is kind of you to ask.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Am I no longer in trouble?”

“Only if you continue to be difficult,” he said.

She frowned. Standing on tiptoe, she tilted her chin and lifted her nose until they were almost touching. “Solas,” her voice dropped low, as if she was sharing a secret. “It’s not just kindness. You’re someone I care about.” It was best to hurry through it. Her finger moved lightly over his cheekbone, waiting for a flinch. He didn’t. _Good._ She hadn’t done any real damage, not even a bruise. “I’m glad my slap didn’t leave a shiner.”

His smile widened. His dark brown brows lifted. He leaned forward so their noses brushed. “Sit,” he said.

His warm breath brushed across her cheeks and Eirwen felt a thrill. This time it sounded more like an order. Swaying, she tucked her hands behind her back. Her smile widened. She tilted her head, staring up at him through her lashes. “And,” she began slowly, “what if I say no?”

A pair of large, callused hands settled on her shoulders. Rough thumbs ran along the curve of her shoulders, his fingers gently tightening around her arms. “If you do not cooperate,” he said. “I may have to encourage you.”

“Oh?” She smiled. “Alright.” Tilting her lips a little higher, she leaned closer. “No.”

She felt him inhale, caught the slight flair in his nostrils. Stiffening in his shoulders, heard her own heartbeat quicken. He leaned even closer, so close their lips almost brushed, then he took a step forward and ended the distance. Eirwen stepped back. Then, he took another, and she followed suit. She knew the number of steps to her cot, knew the direction he was pressuring her. One hand reaching around to grab the back of his head, she stumbled.

Solas caught her. Then, he dropped her.

Eirwen hit her cot with a thump.

“You call that encouragement?”

His hands rested on her shoulders. “I did not say,” he replied, “what form the encouragement would take.”

She giggled. “True.”

Slowly his hands lifted to her temples, cool fingers pressed against her forehead. Center of his palm, though, that was warm, cozy, and inviting. Her concerns melted away. Easy to forget now that she was mad at him. A small smile tucked into the corners of her mouth. She exhaled a slow sigh.

 _Yes,_ Eirwen thought, leaning into him. _I really could stay like this forever._

“You are warm,” he said.

“Feverish?”

“No,” he replied. His left fingers rose, brushing back her hair. “If you are not careful, however, it could become so.”

She grinned, closing her eyes. Enjoying the buzz lingering on her skin as his stroked her. “Is this the part where you order fluids and bed rest?” Her eyelids flickered, then she glanced up at him. “And forget you’re not actually a healer?”

“Prevention does not require true medical skill, da’len,” Solas replied. His voice was very level. His fingers closed into a fist and gently tapped her with his knuckles. “Neither does common sense.”

With a laugh, she grabbed his wrist, pushing away his hand. Tossing her head, her lips pursed, and she rolled her eyes. “Yes, _hahren,_ ” Eirwen said. She let her tone roll towards sarcastic, not biting but mild. Playful. “I will endeavor to do better, _hahren._ ”

“I see.” His right hand rose, fingers lifted her chin, gentle and insistent, and she found herself staring into gray-blue eyes. “I merely ask you try not to leap off so many cliffs.”

Dark flecks of deep blue pooled around his iris, darkening it. The unfathomable ring, almost black, like ink. _I never noticed._ His sad eyes. _So deep, dripping down into a dark murky pool of stories best left forgotten._ If he didn’t face it, he’d never be free. _It’s not a battle I can fight,_ Eirwen told herself. _He has to see that he needs to._ Her eyes slid sideways, felt the warm pulse to her left.

She still held his wrist in her hand, thumb rubbing the cusp of his palm. “But if I don’t jump, hahren,” she said. “Then I’ll never know.”

“Never know what, da’len?”

Voice lilting, her most childish tone, she glanced up at him through mischievous lashes. “If I can fly.”

Solas laughed.

“Well, you never know. What if I need to?” Letting him go, Eirwen lay her hands in her lap. “In order to catch Corypheus? He has a dragon, I don’t. What if it never comes down? Never lands?” Her lips twitched and she added, mournfully, “what if I need to get up into that great sky?”

A small, wry smile cut across Solas’ mouth. He leaned back, gaze moving over her face. “That is an excellent point,” he said. Slowly, he sat down and landed beside her with a heavy thump. “The day may come when you must.”

Eirwen felt the warm pressure of his leg against her thigh. “Exactly,” she said. Leaning sideways, she bumped him with her shoulder. “And how will I know if I never try?” She peered up at him. “It’s best not to leave these things to chance.”

“So.” He chuckled and she felt him lean against her. “Did you, da’len?”

“You know the answer,” she laughed. Lifting her eyes, she stared up at him and rested her chin on his shoulder. Laying her left hand over his, she smiled. “But, hahren,” she said. “There’s always tomorrow.”’

She felt his cheek turn, his mouth gently resting on her forehead. A jolt shot through her, high and hot, the rumble of his agreement as those lips curved into a smile. His fingers closed around hers.

And, together, they sat in silence.

 

\---

 

“So, Bird Boy,” Varric said. Settling back onto his log, he placed Bianca back on his lap and pulled out a cloth. Then, he fixed the new scout with a firm stare. “What’s your story?”

“Story?” Across from him, the elf swung his long legs over a seat and stretched out in front of the fire. He was tall, taller than most elves Varric had ever seen. Long and lanky, almost spindly, with a mop of hair, the purest black flopping across his forehead. Black eyes, same as the ink he dipped his quill into when he began to write, glinted orange and yellow in the firelight. Pale skin, a little weather-beaten, pulled tight and smooth. The kind of face one might call young, but Varric noticed an ageless quality to his skin. At an early guess, he might have been twenty-five. _And feels older._

“Yeah,” Varric said. “Everyone’s got one. What’s yours?”

 _He’s got a darkness in his eyes, like he sees more than he lets on. Old man eyes._ He’d have called it strange for a kid his age. _Except…_ Fenris had old man eyes too. And Hawke. And Anders, especially Anders. _A lot of tragedy in that past, he’s got it written all over his face._ Tragedy aged even the youngest of men before their time. _Makes it almost impossible to tell._ Everything about the easy way he moved set off flags. _All signs agree, this guy is dangerous._ Of course, Varric thought. It would’ve felt off if he was an unfamiliar kind. _Feels like one of Nightingale’s. They’re always shifty._

Not surprising, the scouts around here recognized him and knew him. The friendly way some of those eyes followed the elf suggested that a few even swore by him. _One of her known agents?_ Maybe. _Not too secretive. Maybe he doesn’t need to be._

Harel chuckled. He leaned back on the stool, and swiped a thin bottle up off the dirt. “Mine isn’t particularly fascinating. A lot of sitting. A lot of watching. I go places, occasionally steal a bauble or two. Catch a few whispers. Recover a few secrets.” Black eyes glowed slightly under a tall forehead and over a beaky, almost hawkish nose. “The anecdotes about what I’ve seen?” He grinned. The thin waxy scar along his cheek bone clenched and flexed. Lips parted, revealing a set of perfect, pearly white teeth. “That’s where the good stuff is.”

“Sounds like most spies I know.” Varric leaned forward and began to oil Bianca’s grip. “Still, you’ve got an interesting name.” His eyes dropped. Keeping Harel in his sights, he let his hand slid into the undercarriage. “According to an old Dalish friend of mine, Harel is the base word for Trickster. Causing fear, to deceive, and links into their legends about the Dread Wolf. Interesting pick.”

“It means what I am.” Harel lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig, long and hard. “Common among the Dalish, uncommon among humans.” Varric watched the liquid slide down his long throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, Harel’s upper body jerked forward and he belched. “Nothing to it.” Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he tilted his head. “A new job required a new name.”

“Are you saying after you became a spy, you named yourself Spy?” Varric asked. “Intentionally?”

Harel winked.

Varric laughed. “Andraste’s ass, kid! You’ve got balls.”

“Deceit, technically,” the elf replied cheerfully. He tilted the bottle back, taking another swig. A second smile followed, those black eyes twinkling in the firelight. “But close enough.”

“Qunari do that,” Iron Bull said.

“Yeah,” Varric laughed. “Well, they don’t do it because it’s funny. Go tattoo ‘stupid humans’ on your skull. See how long you get away with it.”

“Huh,” Bull chuckled. “Interesting idea. I might do that in Qunlat, see how long it takes you barbarians to catch on.”

“It’s not quite so simple.” Harel chuckled and stretched out his hands, glass clinking against his knee. “My Keeper used to tells us stories about Dirthamen’s twin ravens, Fear and Deceit. Since Fen’harel sealed the Ancient gods away, they have walked this world bringing misfortunes to the People.”

“And you do the same? Walk the world bringing misfortune to people with that friend you carry around on your shoulder?” Varric shook his head. “I’ve heard dumber names. That’s for sure.”

Another sip of beer followed. The shoulders lifted. Harel shrugged. “It seemed to fit.” A hollow expression touched his eyes, creeping in the cracks. “An easy way to carry my people’s memory with me.”

 _Yeah, a mountain’s worth of pain there._ “Not judging, Bird Boy,” Varric said. “Just curious.”

A flicker in the eyes and that empty, sorrowful expression vanished.

“And I’m not offended,” Harel answered. “Just direct. As one should be with his fellows.” Varric watched that gaze swung to the Qunari on the other side of the fire. He took another sip of beer. “Isn’t that right, Ben’hassrath?”

Iron Bull grunted. Hilt of his blade on the shoulder, the massive Qunari ran a dry stone along the length of his blade. “Spy for a spy,” Iron Bull said.

Harel smirked, lips pulling into an easy smile, casual smile. One foot hooked over his knee, casually exposing his leather boots. “Trading a blade for a blade, wit for wit. Answered with blackmail and lies.”

 _And the sheathed knife, he’s got tucked away._ The pose came so naturally. _I wonder if he practices in the mirror,_ Varric thought. _A friendly, casual, charming smile so no one ever sees the hidden blade behind it._ Yet, Varric found, he could hardly fault the other man. Most people probably missed the extra six or eight knives the fellow carried beyond the extra two daggers on his back. _And he’s not any worse at it than say Isabella._ Though probably not as skilled.

“So, you think the Inquisitor’s going to let you on the team?” Varric ran the cloth along Bianca’s length. “Must’ve impressed her with that bet.”

“Nah,” Harel said. “Not that good. If I was, I’d have won it.”

“To be fair, Bird Boy,” Varric said. “Few of us can anticipate when bets coerce our glorious leader into leaping to her doom.”

“Happens often, does it?” Harel’s smile widened. The tip of his index finger brushed across his mouth. “I’m just on tap to lead you to that Temple tomorrow.” His eyes swung away, toward the Inquisitor’s tent. “Or whenever it is our fearless Herald wishes to go.” He spread his hands. “For the moment, I’m at her disposal.”

“Sooner rather than later, I expect,” Varric said. “Any particular reason we need you?”

“I know where it is,” Harel replied. “It’s got a hidden entrance and some nasty traps. Located most of them. Inquisitor thought it might be best to bring me along to show you lot the safe path. So no one gets blown up. It’s old and elven, I’ve got experience there.”

“You used to hunt in ruins?”

“I was a hunter for my Clan before I was an Inquisition scout,” Harel said. His amiable voice carried lightly on the air. “I’ve investigated a few.”

“And I bet she thought you’d want to see this one’s insides?” Varric asked. “You two being Dalish and all.”

Harel chuckled. “You think she’s playing favorites?”

Varric stared at him. _Is she? She’s known this guy a few hours and already agreeing to take him with her into some dark and dangerous place._ Except, he almost shook his head. _Can’t I say the same for the rest of us? We expect her trust and none of us really have anything to offer. The Seeker threatened to kill her, she knew me three seconds, and Chuckles actively insulted her a few minutes after they met. At least, Bird Boy approached her from a perspective she can understand. They’re both Dalish. He even wined and dined her. That’s more than any of us can say. Except maybe our dear Iron Lady. Why wouldn’t she share this with him?_

“I think,” he said. “Bright Eyes has been away from home for a long time. It’s easy to forget she’s not comfortable with the humans, the dwarves, Qunari, or even most elves.” It was true. _Sera and Solas are the closest she gets and both of them are constantly telling her how wrong and stupid the Dalish are._ A pang hit him, dead center. No, he couldn’t hold this against her. If he were in her position, he might have done the same.

“I’ve heard you’re one to watch, Varric,” Harel said. “Nice to see some rumors are actually true.”

 _Gotta be exhausting hearing people tell her everything she knew and believed growing up is a lie. Her beliefs are wrong, backwards, or foolhardy._ Why wouldn’t she want to do this with the one guy in their whole camp who might understand? “Flattery will get you nowhere, Bird Boy.”

The grin flashed. A cheeky grin, Varric decided, one that knew no shame.

“Maybe not with you,” Harel said. “Some are very open to it.”

 _If he sticks around, I should introduce him to Isabella,_ Varric thought. He leaned forward. “So, Harel,” he said. “If we can swing enough players, you up for a game of Wicked Grace?”

Across the fire, those dark eyes shone and shimmered. Varric felt a strange shiver, as if someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water on his head, slither down his spine.

“Nothing would make me happier, Varric.”

 _Yeah,_ Varric thought. Harel made his skin crawl. There was just something strange about the guy. _Except just not more than anybody else. Feels like it’s right on the tip of my tongue and I can’t say it._ He sighed. _Shit!_ Maybe a game of cards would help.

 

\---

 

They sat together on the cot, his fingers stroking the top of Eirwen’s head, moving through silky strands. Despite its feel, her fine hair often hung heavy, swept off her forehead. He breathed gently, inhaling today’s scents. Most of it had been carried away by the river, leaving a crisp smell carrying earthy undertones. Her warm body tucked against him, her hand on his, fingers closed. Generously sharing her gentle comfort, though his previous behavior left him more than deserving of a casual eviction.

 _I was more concerned about her attraction to Harel than aware she might be choking. More concerned about his threat to her safety than the idea she might be grateful for his rescue._ Worried she would trust him. _Harel approached her as Dalish. Why wouldn’t she? For all she knows, he is one of her people. The Dalish look out for each other._

Solas exhaled, slowly. He had to take a chance. He let his hand come to a stop on her hair and pressed a fierce kiss to the back of his knuckles. The kiss he didn’t dare to give. Not yet.

“Cole believes you have been experiencing nightmares,” he said.

Against his side, she stiffened.

His stomach dropped and he held his breath.

Her head turned, hand clenching around his hand, and she buried her nose in his collarbone. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Da’len?” he murmured.

Fabric scraped against his chest, rough underside tickling his skin, a sign her mouth was yanking into one of those sad smiles. The kind which covered how she really felt. “It was only a matter of time,” she said. This time, her voice was calmer. More sure. “I’m not surprised he told you.”

“It has been more than one.” He pushed her hair back. “How long?”

“Long enough,” she replied.

He almost smiled. _A truly non-committal answer, her courtly conditioning with the First Enchanter must be going very well._ “How long,” he repeated.

“Is survival living?” Eirwen asked. “You’d think it would be. I mean, I always thought it was. I didn’t realize when it started, when I started surviving. Every hour of every day since that battle with Corypheus. Every minute. I have been surviving since…” she sighed. “Since Haven. Since before the Inquisition was founded.”

“You have done what is necessary to ensure you kept on doing so, da’len,” he said. “Few could blame you for it.”

“But how do you define that? What’s necessary? How can any of us quantify it?” Eirwen asked. “Is it just what endangers my physical body? What about my mind? My spirit? If I survive,” she looked up at him, “but do not live, am I really alive at all?”

He paused.

“There’s an emptiness in me, Solas,” Eirwen said. “Voices, when I close my eyes I hear them shouting, crying out in the dark. Everyone we’ve lost. Everyone I failed. All these voices screaming out my name. It goes on and on, just growing larger and larger over time,” she continued. Her fist pressed to her breasts, over her heart. “Ever expanding, the voices get louder, shrieking out of this…” she swallowed and hit herself emphatically, “this… this _void_ inside my chest.” He felt hot tears splash against his fingers. “Empty. So empty. When I go to sleep it’s all I hear. It only stops when I go, when I look, when I seek them.”

“It is still foolish to go alone,” he said. “Even if it is just those with experience dealing with the Fade, Cole or I could…”

“No!” Eirwen exclaimed. Her head shot up. Her fingers tightened around his hand. Again, her voice became level. “No, Solas. I can’t.”

His gut tightened. _So, she does not trust me after all._ “If so, then perhaps one of the others—”

“It’s not that. I can’t take anyone with me,” Eirwen said. “I’ve tried! I never… it never…” she swallowed, “it doesn’t work.”

 _Is this Harel’s doing?_ Solas wondered. _Is he influencing her dreams?_ He could not recall whether the other elf possessed that power. Whether he had also specialized in some kind of Fade magic or study. _I do not remember. Dalish legend states that Dirthamen tricked Fear and Deceit into their own capture so he might force them to carry him into the Fade to find Falon’din._ His nose wrinkled. _Merely a fanciful tale. The Harel I knew never walked in the Beyond, no more than any other. He and his twin served in Dirthamen’s service._ Yet, there was little else about them he’d found worth remembering. Their story was hardly unique. _They were eager to laugh and play games, but they could not be serious and were too devoted to Dirthamen to ever be lured away._

What could they want with the Inquisitor? He sighed. What could Dirthamen? _Why does he torment her?_ He felt the Anchor’s burn on his skin. The soft pulse of his power simmering beneath the surface. A cold reminder of power unbound and untethered. Yes, it could only be that. _What does he want with it?_

“Solas?”

He glanced down. Those warm summer blue eyes stared up at him, reddened cheeks and wet lashes, her lower lip trembling. She forced a smile. “I know it must sound strange,” she added.

“Me saying I feel dead, adrift, apart from myself…”

“No,” Solas said. His arm moved, wrapping around her shoulders. Her exposure to the Anchor, it had torn a part of her away. “No, da’len. It is peculiar, but not without remedy.” Perhaps, just the memory of that moment. A missing piece of a spirit could still burn, still ache. A wound that would not heal, no matter how much time passed. “We will find a solution. In the meantime,” he continued. “I know a spell, one which may allow you to sleep peacefully without dreams.”

Her lips pulled into a wobbly smile. Her chin rested on his shoulder. “If you think it’ll help.”

“I hope it will, da’len,” he said. It was as much honesty as he could offer. “Your situation is unusual. There are spirits I may consult which could offer a solution.” His hand passed over her forehead, sliding down the curve, gently collecting warm tears on his fingertip. Leaning down, he rested his brow against hers. “For now,” he added. “This is all I can give.”

“Thank you, hahren,” Eirwen said. He felt the touch of cold skin, a tapping on his nose. Her index finger. “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, it’s enough.” She snuggled closer, her breasts pressing against his arm. Lips lifting, a gentle nuzzle against his cheek. “You are enough.”

There she was, warm and welcoming. _As always._ He offered the barest minimum and she accepted with gracious contentment. As he ran frightened, she opened her arms to give him comfort. _I do not deserve this._ How could he tell her? How? She offered kindness. Told him he was enough. Yet, he offered only lies. Misrepresented himself. Refused to give her the truth she deserved. _She does not know who I am, what I have done._ He loved her, yes. _I will only hurt her._ How could he tell her he loved her? In the end, it would only cause her more pain.

No, he couldn’t.

He swallowed. His mouth suddenly dry. “Very well,” Solas said. “Lie back.”

Eirwen’s eyes rolled, the wobbly smile widening into an amused grin. “As you say, hahren.”

A chuckle shook through him.

The heat of her body pulled away. Eirwen lay down on her cot, stretching out behind him. Legs tucking up as her knees bent. One hand under arm.

Solas turned and rested his hand on her forehead. Eyes on that trusting smile, the gleam of white teeth. His back warmed by the brazier. A spark of magic flickered on his fingertips, blue light glimmering. He said no words, made no incantation. Instead, he simply allowed his power sink into her. The Anchor inside her responded to his energy, alive and burning bright behind her eyes.

_Ar lath ma, vhenan._

“Sleep well,” Solas murmured, thumb stroking her bangs.

Her eyelids flickered, head relaxing back against her pillow.

Smiling, he turned to go.

Her hand caught his arm.

Solas glanced back.

Those wide blue eyes were on him and he recognized fear in those bright irises. “Stay with me?”

Inside his heart, he felt his resolve crumbling. Felt the shattered pieces of his will, his walls collapsing in light of those frightened eyes. How could he go when she needed comfort? Wanted it from him? Wanted his? _I gave up on miracles long ago._ So, why did this feel like one?

He swallowed.

“Of course, da’len.”

Slowly, he lay down beside her. One arm wrapped across his chest, her body tucking tight along the line of his body. Her head snuggled into his shoulder. With a gentle hand, he pulled the blanket over them both. Her forehead buried against his chest and he felt her hide a smile.

“Tell me a story.” It was a sleepy murmur, said in a yawn.

Resting his chin on the top of her head, he could not conceal his own grin. “What would you like to hear?”

“Something about…” she yawned again, her head limp on his chest, her lashes fluttered, “…the Fade…”

Solas laughed. “Of course, da’len, whatever eases you to sleep.” He felt her snuggle even closer, her warm breath brushing across his neck. Her nose resting on the opening in his shirt, nudging his collarbone. Drawing in a deep breath, he began. “Once in my travels through the Frostbacks, I happened upon a valley and in it found an ancient battlefield…”

 

\---

 

In the trees outside camp, sat a raven. It’s black eye swaying over the trees, capturing bush, branch, and blade of grass. In the grass, Cole straightened and stepped up on a stone. So it could see him clearly. He stared, fixing the creature inside his mind’s eye. There it blazed. At the center an empty hole. Once it had been bright and shining, filled and full, tall and proud. Now, only a mirror’s reflection remained.

“Fear,” Cole said. It was dark inside, a void that led nowhere. Behind it, he heard a hundred thousand voices cry out. His low voice quavered. “She’s not yours.” Their deafening pain. “The Dark Place is not hers. Not you.” Murky woods closed and pressed around him. A cold center falling, fading, forgotten. “Bright and shining. She doesn’t walk in your hidden places. You won’t take her.” His dropped and he whispered, “I won’t let you.”

Cold eyes studied him. Then, the raven threw its head back. The air filled with derisive, raucous caws. An echo, the lingering call.

_Laughter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And down, down into the rabbit hole we go. We’re getting into it now. So, here’s the calm before the first great shift. This chapter was mostly full of cuddles and Varric. I love Varric. So insightful. So clever. So… missing it entirely. But really, how would you guess?
> 
> Harel is going to drive Solas crazy. He is Marcus sitting by singing “I am the very model of a modern major general” in a packed shipping container where he has nowhere to go.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it.


	8. From the Constellation Inside His Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Solas and Eirwen experience the past. She in through the eyes of another and he trapped in the prison of his own memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in this fic, not even the slight alterations and additions I made to the lore. Not even my Lavellan. I just put words in a row
> 
>  **Warning:** Smut. Solas/Andruil. Implied Past Non-Con. Non-Con (in the sense of characters experiencing past events and sexual situations in a dreamstate against their will. Gray area, Non-Con. If a character being a ride along in someone else’s memory bothers you, then skip it. Nothing graphic.)

The crack of a whip sounded. Lash snapped across her back. Eirwen lifted a block high, wading through the mud. Tip caught a recently healed weal and she flinched, almost stumbled. One foot catching on a stone, her nose hovered above murky, black waters.

A hand caught her elbow. 

Still holding the block high, Eirwen glanced up into warm brown eyes. The eyes of a man. Bare chested, cheeks lined with age and splattered with mud and bits of yellow straw. Worried eyes. Tired hunched shoulders, a scraggly beard hanging from his chin. Skin cooked by the hot sun. 

Warm liquid trickled down her spine. Eirwen smiled and said in a voice that was not her own, “I am well.” 

“Keep moving slave!” 

The lash came again, cracking across her wrist. 

She bit back a yelp. 

“They are only words, da’len,” the elder said. He was one of theirs, of Elvhenan. 

_And he calls me little child._ Little child when she had lived his lengthy six thousand years three times over. Or more. Perhaps it was, she could not know. She had been born. She lived. Counting the years had been meaningless until now. Before… In the time before they had stolen her from her cool forests and taken her to their crystal cities, the days had gone on unending. No need to count moments or hold them close inside her memory, to learn of concepts like seconds, hours, or years, or clocks. That time needed to be kept. That there was such a thing. To develop the need for patience, to learn to wait. 

Now, she had. Confinement within the passage of time required she learn the skill. 

Her eyes flicked to the elf coiling his lash above the channel. 

_Hate taught me how._

The elder’s faded brands marked his master as a servant of the false god June. His rough, tired voice barely rose above a whisper. “They cannot harm you. Their whips cannot touch you.” He spoke the words like a prayer. “El uth’elgar.” 

_They can harm me in other ways,_ the small voice thought inside Eirwen’s mind. _Their pain binds me into this world._ It was not her mind. Not her memory. Not her thoughts. _They hurt me and I can only hurt them back._ She had hurt them before. She would again. “El uth’elgar,” not Eirwen said. The words foreign on her tongue, spoken clumsily. 

A third crack, this time from the barrel chested man on the channel’s other side. It caught the elder square across the back and he slipped sideways. Almost collapsing. 

Eirwen felt her eyes drop, fingers twisting and tightening on the object she held. With the block in her hands, she could do nothing. _I don’t dare drop it,_ the voice echoed in her, it felt distant. Far away. _The overseer, his men, they will…_

The elder coughed. Thick spittle flying from his mouth. Body hunched, she saw a twisted back with wizened arms. An _old_ man. 

_He is fading. It won’t be long now._

“Your spirit… beyond… their… grasp.” 

It always had been. She was of the Uthunuan. She was not of the “People”, those of Elvhenan. _Elvhen and their limits._ They did not understand. The world was one, not many pieces folded together. They broke it down, separated what was with names. Stiffened nothingness into walls with their boxes and lines as they broke themselves into separations. Defined the up and the down. The nothing from the not. Until they could no longer pass between them and they could not move. Did not know how to send a whisper across the world. Doorways were necessary. They built their mirrors, the eluvians to act as waypoints because they could not find the paths into the Planar Tapestry. 

Their supposed immortality? A sham. Even if only some of their physical shells did not age, their spirits faded. They grew tired. Only their gods seemed never ending and even they required periodic rest. Their Pantheon knew of time, of days, and months, counted their years. They slept, secure in their Waking Dream. 

She frowned. 

They did not understand. There was no time. No tired. No sleep. To live on in dreams was an ending all its own. 

_We did not know it either, until they came._ Knew nothing of sorrow, nothing of darkness, nothing of death, or regret until the soldiers of Falon’din clapped her in irons and sent her east into lands where the everlasting sun rose and set. Sent her out of the Light Never Ending. Into the place where dreams were necessary and separate from the Waking. 

Slowly, the elder sloshed away. Moving on through thick, heavy black waters toward the cavern mouth where the harsh repetition axes striking stone created a rough symphony of staccato notes. Other slaves moved past him, carrying more smooth black rocks out. More followed him, hauling in buckets to fill with rock and silt. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. The words slid through parched lips and she saw the reflection of the woman in the water. A young woman. Wide eyes, an inky black, stared back. This woman was young like her, with a thin face and skin browned by many hours in the sun. Deep lines cut around her mouth. Brown hair, sliced short by some dull blade, hung in jagged ripples across her brow. A weal cut into her cheek, puckering edges closed like lips prepared to kiss. A long, raised scar ran from her chin to her ear. 

Slowly, Eirwen waded forward. She lifted her eyes, ignoring the stinging pain in her aching back. Water rippled around her as she passed, making her way toward the shore. On either side, her eyes tracked Keeper Cycen’s men. Their bare faces, a sign that they were paid for these services, stared down at her. Gray eyes followed every move, every sliding step, studying her features beneath a carefully built façade of grime and scars. 

She swallowed and let hers drop. 

_One day,_ Eirwen heard the woman’s voice say. _One day, I will repay the lessons you have taught me._

She continued on. It was a slow, steady march. Water and mud clung to her legs, the current gripping her hard. Her tired legs kept moving forward. Ahead, a great tower of black stone rose up out of a canyon. The forests to her right, she remembered belonged to the Hunter Andruil, who had gifted this bit of land to June for his mining. A rare ore was here. The raw stuff of magic that they called Lyrium. It mattered little. What she carried, it was only a piece. And she did not have the power to deny even that. 

Ahead, the woman who was not Eirwen could hear the chant rising. The slaves singing as they worked, carrying a strange music that mixed with their toil. A bit of joy in this dank, dark place. Climbing up out onto the wooden board that formed a basis for a muddy pathway, she carried her stone forward and joined the line leading inside. 

\--- 

Solas slept cushioned by the grass. One hand lay across his eyes, hiding him from the noon sun. Overhead, branches cast short shadows in fluttering leaves. A slow breeze cooled his skin. Whatever this dream was, it felt like a good dream. When his magic had sent Lavellan into a dreamless slumber, he thought he might join her there. Sleep with his chin resting on her head, arm curled up around her side as her warm body tucked against him. Her nose nuzzled against his throat. He had planned to stay like that all night, to fix the memory in his mind. When he had to go and wanted to remember, to return to the place in his dreams. _When I think of her._ When he dreamt alone on those long, cold days and nights at Skyhold. _When I wish to remember what it felt like to come home._

Yet, here he was in some distant part of the Fade. Listening to the songs of the birds rustling in the branches overhead. Solas felt the smile on his lips. _What a strange place to wake up._ It felt familiar, like a moment out of his memory. One he could not quite remember, fuzzy at the edges. He should, he knew and yet he couldn’t. The shape did not wish to form. 

“There you are, sa’lath!” 

He bolted upright. He knew this voice, it belonged to the one whose face he could carve from memory. 

_Andruil._

Her shadow leaned across him. Large eyes, the color of moon-silver, stared down at him. One hand already planted on the center of his chest, over his heart. Her weight held him down. Long tendrils of auburn hair, painstakingly braided into tight, tiny braids swung about her cheeks and chin. Lips painted a bright ruby red, dark mascara around her large eyes, long lashes fluttered like a butterflies wings on his skin. She grinned, exposing a perfect line of sharp white teeth. 

_No._

He thrashed. _No!_

Attempting to wake, to throw himself from the dream. 

Nothing. 

He was caught within the flow of a dream-memory, drawn deep into it. Already it gripped him within its current and he could not break free. There was only one thing to do. _I must follow it to its conclusion._ His dream. His memory. He would act out the part of his younger self and, soon, yes soon, he would awaken from his nightmare. 

“Tut, tut, vhenan,” Andruil said. She gripped his chin with taut fingers and lifted it. She dragged him forward with rough hands and planted a harsh kiss to his lips. Her grin widened. “I came with news.” 

“Do not tell me,” he said, it was spoken from his memory. “The war is over.” 

She laughed. “Mythal sent hers already.” 

“Well guessed,” he replied. Picking up the scroll from his lap, he held it up with a grin. “It came this morning on the wings of a raven.” 

Andruil tilted her head, braids falling sideways. “Already Dirthamen’s spies follow you, ma vhenan.” 

“They are nothing,” he replied. Internally, Solas felt his eyes squeeze shut. _Yes,_ he thought. _Harel did follow me._ Was this dream Harel’s doing? Had he trapped him here to gain access to Eirwen? To steal the Inquisitor when he wasn’t there to watch over her? To cut him from the picture? Was that was this was all about? 

He swallowed. He could imagine it that way. 

“Already, you are a far greater mage than he will ever be,” Andruil said. “I admit, I could have used your assistance against the Uthuanan’an.” 

“I wanted to be with you,” Solas replied. He spoke in his youthful voice, spoken with none of the torture in his heart. He frowned, reaching out to brush his finger down her cheek. His nail stiffened and bit deep, drawing out a few droplets of her blood. He watched her grin widen, the arousal glittering in her cold irises. “I begged her to let me go, but Mythal would not hear it. She bid me stay.” 

“With another logic piece for you to puzzle over, no doubt!” Andruil laughed. “You the Safe Prince! Forever coddled!” 

He gripped her face between his hands. “I am no soft babe barely out of gossamer weaves!” 

Andruil shoved him back into the grass. “It has been long enough,” she said. “I have forgotten.” 

“Then,” he gripped her arm, “I shall remind you.” 

\--- 

Eirwen watched the old elder’s body rot in the afternoon sun. Long withered arms stretched out with gnarled hands flat against the muddy ground. An inky black goo stained those fingers, eyes bright with blue light. It cracked across his skin, breaking through his brown skin with a fierce shining light. Contaminated and broken, his head twisted to one side. His swollen tongue stuck between his lips. Eyes wide and staring into the black puddle around his head. 

_Lyrium,_ the voice that was not her thought. _Its poison takes another._

Flies swirled about the elder’s, twitching wings landing on his nose. Laying their eggs in the rotting crevices, soon to be born from his cheeks, mouth, nose, and eyes. 

A man stood over him, a familiar tuft of black hair flopped an all too familiar brow. Black eyes gleaming out his face, surveying the area before him. The marks of Dirthamen tattooed upon his face, but even with those additions its guise was a perfect fit to her memory. He had not changed at all. 

“Is this the one?” the man asked. 

_Harel,_ Eirwen thought. _Telsis,_ thought the voice inside her. 

A heart began to hammer. Hope followed. 

_My Telsis,_ the words rang through her. They were bright, filled with color. Joyful. _My Telsis lives!_

“It is as I said, great one,” Keeper Cycen murmured. “482 has always been trouble.” 

A wave of his hands brought her to her knees. Two men pinioned her arms behind her back, thrusting her head forward. One gripped her hair, ready to wrench it free from her scalp. She did not struggle. Her gaze lifted and she fixed him with it, mouth a hard line. 

_This time,_ she thought, _I will not hide my eyes._

If she went to her death this day, then it would be with defiance. 

Had Harel come to free his beloved? Eirwen wondered. Why else would he be here? 

She wanted to strain against her bonds, but Eirwen could not make her body move. It went of its own accord, with the actions of the woman whose life she was reliving. _Solas told me I wouldn’t dream,_ the thought flew through her. _Why am I here?_ Why was she bound into this dream? 

“Deposit her in the woods,” Harel said. “Andruil may have a use for her.” 

“As Dirthamen’s Voice commands,” Keeper Cycen murmured. He bowed low. “It is a fitting punishment for murder.” 

_He was already dead, fool._ The two behind Eirwen forced her lower, shoved her face into the mud and grime. _He died when you clapped him in irons and sent him to mine into the earth._ Her heart pounding, she did not even dare to breathe. The knife lay against the stone, half buried in mud. She had seen the old man caught in the throw of sickness and watched the slow maddening of his mind. What had been done could not be undone. There had only been one solution. _It was more than what you offered, pigs!_

She wanted to cry out. Curse them, curse every inch and every breath of their souls. Fill herself with the shining light they coveted and smash their spirits free from those dead shells. Eirwen called her power, but it would not come. Emptiness filled her. 

The elven overseers hauled her to her feet, turned her, and with slow steps lead her away. 

They left her in the woods. An empty grove, protected by tightly woven trees. 

There she crouched and watched the sun descend. It’s cold yellow dropped by steady increments toward the tree line. 

She waited. 

Hours passed. 

Her heart hammered. It felt like forever. 

Then, Eirwen saw Harel moving through the trees. The dark shape of his body, his long lanky frame. She felt her body move on its own accord, driven forward by another rider. Carried by the dream, she was running. Running with a desperate, anxious gait, a joyous cry stifled in her throat. Tired arms and legs forced to work, to function. She burned with relief. A few steps forward, and she threw herself into his arms. 

“Telsis!” The words escaped her in a hot, hoarse whisper. Her heart pounded in her chest. 

He caught her and pulled her to him, crushing her against his body. Arms equally as desperate held her tight. Warm lips swept through her hair, whispering words in a language Eirwen had never heard. Could not understand. The dream refused to translate. She didn’t have time to process, because he was kissing her. Pressing kisses to her lips, her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, every inch of skin, a suffocating man inhaling his first breath of oxygen. Feather light, those cracked lips passed over her eyelids, her temple, down her neck. 

Her fingers tangled up in his thick, coarse black hair. 

His nails dug into her spine. 

He lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He wheeled, slamming her against a tree. Rough bark ground into her back, sending up new shivers of stinging pain as barely healed wounds tore open. They were forgotten as she kissed him, cold lips finding warm skin. Her fingers sliding up his ears, her lips buried in his bangs. Her mouth brushed the top of his head, groaning as his hands slid up her thigh. He tongue dipped into her collarbone, the knoll of her throat. Shivers raced through her, shook her, head knocked back against the tree trunk. 

“I knew it,” whispered the voice that was not her voice. “Beloved.” It was a throaty, husky voice, damaged vocal chords cutting sound on her tongue. “I knew you survived.” 

A rough sound rumbled through him, somewhere between a purr and a growl. 

Her mouth moved to his ear, planting gentle kisses along the inside curve. 

His nails dug into her skin, pushing up the hem of her skirt. “Did they hurt you?” His words were soft, a fierceness to them which made Eirwen’s heart race. “Did they touch you?” 

Her arms tightened around him and Eirwen had her answer. “We’ll make them pay,” she snarled. “For every beaten child, for every woman, and every man, for every family they tore apart with their foul blood brands. We will make them bleed.” Her fingers bit into his skull. “They will know, beloved,” she hissed. “They will know the shattered mirror still cuts.” 

Harel kissed her cheek. Gentle hands sweeping back her hair. “They will, my heart,” he whispered. “I promise you.” His hand slid further. “They will.” 

Eirwen felt her heart hammer. Felt low breathy gasps escape from her. Perforated by slight moans, she lurched forward against him. His tongue plunged into her mouth, strafing across her teeth. Desperate, heady passion followed and Eirwen’s eyelids fluttered shut. _It’s all right,_ the voice inside her said. _He is here, all is well. It will be well!_

“I…” the words were rough, “I waited like… like you told me.” 

“I know,” he murmured. “You hid well.” 

“I didn’t touch it,” she said. “I kept myself from it. I did not touch the Hallowed Realms, did not fold the tendrils of the tapestry, I did not draw forth magicka through even a facsimile of their shallow sieve. I did not dream.” 

A soft sound escaped him, almost a cry. 

“I wanted to. I wanted to escape,” she continued. “Every day, beloved. Every day, I fought the urge to cut open a path and step into the Umbral, to pass into the Beyond where they could not find me. So many of us have lost the gift, broken in this fallen world. Become like _them_.” The words hissed from her throat, angry and hateful. “I held onto your memory. Every day, I wanted to go but I _knew_.” Her soft voice murmured. “I knew you would come. Knew you would find me.” Her hand curved under his chin, and she lifted it to stare into his eyes. “My harbor,” she whispered. “My refuge.” 

Harel’s callused thumb traced the line of her cheek, the raised scar. “I wish you had.” 

“How could I leave this plane without you?” 

His forehead pressed to hers. A hard gesture, pained, his fingers squeezing around her thighs. 

_As if, as if…_ Eirwen thought. As if he were struggling against some sort of… imperative. _Run!_ Eirwen shouted at the woman. _Run! Break free! Go!_ However, she didn’t move. The woman didn’t either. This was not how it had gone. 

“Telsis?” Her voice questioned. Eirwen felt it laced with the underpinnings of hope. 

Harel stared up at her. His black eyes impenetrable. “Ir abelas,” he said. 

_Their words._

His hands released her. 

Back scraping down the tree bark, she fell. Hitting the forest floor with a thump, Eirwen felt the woman’s gaze rise. A new feeling filled her. _Terror._ Inside her mind, Eirwen thrashed. _Run!_ He wasn’t her Telsis. _He’s not him!_ Not anymore. _What did they do! What have they done!_ A string of curses followed, again in a language Eirwen did not recognize. 

“What have they done to you?” Those words tore from her throat. “Beloved! What has that monster done?” 

His black irises were so dark, empty and echoing. Harel’s hand passed across her, resting on her hair. His thumb slid down the curve of her forehead and pressed into her brow. 

Her eyes widened. Heat spun, pain spiked through her. Eirwen began to scream. 

\--- 

Andruil’s hands tore at his scalp, wrenching back his head. Without adieu, she straddled him and captured him between firm thighs. Teeth sunk into his lower lip, pulling upwards. She knocked the scroll from his hands. Pain set fire to his nerves, sweeping across his scalp. Solas tasted copper on his tongue. Hot blood welling up inside his lip and dripping down his chin. His lips twisted into a smile. Andruil’s nail trailed across his skin, swiping it away. 

Slowly, her luminous moon-silver eyes locked on his, her index finger slid into her mouth and she began to suck. 

Solas felt his arousal, a dull distant thing. Those were the feelings of his foolish younger self, the self of the early days before he had looked up from his studies to see the world and his people. The suffering, the anguish, before it filled him with the desire for change. 

Andruil watched him, tongue flicking down the length of her finger. 

His nails dug into her back. His stomach twisted. It was difficult to enjoy this as he once had. 

Instead of Andruil, another face flitted through his mind. Eirwen resting her head on his shoulder, peering up at him through fluttering lashes. Warm fingers cupping his chin, wiping away the blood. An irritated sigh escaping her before she pressed gentle lips to his in a soft kiss. A playful tongue sliding into his mouth with delicate, wet flicks. He thought of the shy smile from Haven, the smug expression of an accurate assessment made. _Proud she read me correctly._

“Fen’harel?” 

“Ah,” he murmured. He pulled back as the dream bade him and reached for his scroll. “Forgive me.” 

“You’re distracted,” Andruil said. 

What had he been doing? What had he done here? 

She peered at him, fluttering dark auburn lashes. “A woman?” 

“No,” Solas allowed the dream-memory to guide his answers. “You know as well as I that even if I find enjoyment in the flesh of another, none could replace you within my spirit.” _Except for the one who already has._ Unrolling the scroll, he studied its contents again. Ancient language, still second nature. 

“So?” Her hand pushed his head back, fixing him within the hold of white-silver irises. 

“Council business. Falon’din is moving to expand his territory.” 

“Ah,” she grunted. Rolling off him, Andruil flopped to the side. Resting her chin on her hand, she shook her head. “You think he’d be satisfied with the Western Reaches. Conquering the Ulthunuan’an and their silly forest of Dreams was a victory worthy of a single age.” 

“You were there,” Solas said. “You would know.” 

“A bargain well struck,” she sighed. “He gave me the hunting grounds and the sport I wished. I have been well satisfied since.” 

He snorted. 

Her eyes swept back up to him. “Why?”Andruil laughed. “Do you disagree?” 

“I believe he hungers,” Solas replied. “I have noticed a thirst for conquest in our brother, I do not think any amount of land can satisfy.” 

She snorted. “He should build upon what he has,” Andruil replied. “Another slave revolt in his lands and Elgar’nan may bring sanctions before the Council. These last few have been costly. Some Ulthunuan’an dreamers severed two hundred slumbering elders from the Waking Sleep.” She laughed. “They snuffed them inside the Great Coliseum itself. In his fury, the Dread Father ordered all surviving Uthunuan slaves to be executed.” 

He winced. “Executed? Not Silenced?” 

“We learned during the wars that the Uthunuan’an are resistant to the Severing. They cannot be cut off from the Beyond, not truly. Even severed, the strands rebuild and they return whole. Entire companies were killed within their sleep by branded captives. Some simply vanished, their shackles empty when the overseers woke.” Andruil chuckled. “Their manacles still locked! Our scouts believed them to be ghosts. Flitting in and out of the world, more spirit than elvhen.” 

Glancing at her, he lifted his brows. Sometimes, Solas remembered, he walked in the Beyond. In his dreams, where he met spirits and remembered memories. This was the first time he’d heard of others with similar powers. “Interesting,” he said. _I did not pay attention then._ He had cared nothing for Falon’din’s wars with trivial powers. _Except when he involved Andruil in his mad grabs for more._

Beside him, Andruil rolled onto her back. “They were fascinating. The Uthunuan and their two great kingdoms, led by the Dawn Princes Teclis and Telsis. Their Dreamer Woods in the Western Reaches were filled with secrets far too good to let them keep. You know how Dirthamen covets magic and Falon’din the power it brings.” 

Solas shook his head. 

“Falon’din learned quickly. When he did, he turned those remaining cities in the Dreamer’s Woods into bloody seas. By that time, many of those captured in their first great city of Areleon had already been shipped south and sold.” 

A thrill of fear surged through Solas’ stomach as it had at the time. _Mythal protected me when she discovered my talents, but those others could not be saved. None of the Uthunuan’an could be, not from the Dread Father’s wrath._ “Finding them could be a challenge, then.” 

Andruil shrugged. “So I have heard. I experience none.” 

“Perhaps,” Solas replied. “It may have simply not found you yet.” 

Andruil snorted. “I will kill it for Elgar’nan when it does. Then, I will lay their stripped corpses at the base of the Unending Spire.” 

“As our Dread Father wills,” Solas murmured. 

“He may call upon you soon to aid him,” Andruil continued. “He does not believe you are pulling your weight, vhenan.” 

Solas glanced away and lay the scroll on his lap. His eyes lifted to the forest, an unending land of towering trees spread out before him all the way to the horizon. Andruil’s forests. Here, there were no slaves who worked the fields. Or toiled endlessly in meaningless tasks, in the mines. Andruil kept her slaves in pens, kept them as game, chose the best and most challenging to hunt for her pleasure while Ghilnan’nain’s great creatures and her own chosen wandered free to hunt. Miles and miles of her territory were free from the horrors traveling within the city brought. 

Once, he had believed these peaceful forests shared none of the cruelty haunting the more civilized regions of the Elvhenan. In the end, Solas closed his eyes underneath the warm summer light, he learned there was nowhere in the Empire without misery. 

Slowly, he rolled over and gripped Andruil’s chin with hard fingers. “When he asks,” Solas replied and let the dream-memory guide him. He pulled her forward, a rough, harsh kiss flattening her lips. “I will be pleased to show Falon’din his error in dealing with these savages.” 

She grinned into his mouth. Sharp teeth biting his lip. Her hand flattened against his chest. Rough claws peeling back his robe, her nails cut into his skin. 

Of all the gods, Andruil was his closest match. The one who understood him as her equal, they had been made to fit. Yet their pieces were rough and jagged, they cut themselves upon one another. He could not bear parting then, even when she hurt him and he her. They were too dissimilar to stay together for long, but too similar to stay apart. When they’d first met, when he snuck through the depths of forest to find her bathing in the moonlight among her hounds. Her long auburn hair hanging loose down her back, smooth arms above her head, body free of cuts or scars. Not a single blemish to mar her beauty. When he watched her emerge from the water… _I wanted her more than I ever wanted anyone._ She had taken him then, when she saw him. Known immediately who he was and what she wanted. He barely more than a boy and she already in her thousandth year. They had remained together since. 

Empty, he felt nothing now as she swung over him and took the scroll from his hands. Not the hate he might have expected. She had betrayed him when she aided Elgar’nan and Falon’din in their orchestration of Mythal’s murder and he had hated her for it. A hate which fractured his spirit and his trust. 

Slowly, Solas stroked Andruil’s cheek as he had before. _It truly is over,_ he thought. He was mildly surprised by the revelation. _I thought I would love her forever._

Her hand slid up behind his head, gripping him more tightly. 

Solas responded in accordance to expectations. He could play along, would have to if he wanted to escape this dream. When it left him, when he woke then he be where he needed to be. He would see Eirwen. See her smile. He would ask how she slept, and if it was well. Check on her dreams. Feel the warmth of her skin as she placed her hand on his cheek. They would continue on and he would discard this lost moment amongst all those of a past best left forgotten. 

_I will listen to her swear in corridors and watch her leap off cliffs. I will tell her stories and, if I am fortunate, hold her when she sleeps. We will fight and discuss all the different ways the people of her world might be aided. I will once again see the tiny frown marring her forehead, her smug smile, her clever grin, play with her wondrous tongue. One day, I will see her fly._

Solas hoped it was before the end. Perhaps, though, it would also be as well for him if that day never came. Perhaps, it would even be better. 

A harsh twist yanked his ear. A hot pain seared his nerves. He jerked up. “Fenedhis!” 

“You were drifting, beloved,” Andruil said. 

“Would you prefer my attention remain on you?” He chuckled. “I suppose you must become interesting, then.” 

She jerked his ear again and he flew forward. Her mouth captured him, biting down on his lower lip. For the second time, Solas tasted blood. “One day, Fen’harel,” Andruil purred. “Your quick wit will get the better of you.” Her pointed red nail trailed down the inside of his ear, leaving a long bloody scrape. “Study Mythal’s intellectual problems all day, come up with all the answers you like, but you’ll miss the moment. What happens in the here and the now.” 

His fingers rose to her cheeks, sharp fingers digging sharply into her reddened cheeks. “And what,” he asked as the dream-memory prompted him, “would you prefer I do?” 

She tossed her head. “You know what I like, sa’lath.” 

_Yes,_ Solas thought bleakly. _I do._

Leaning forward, he kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're in it now. Hopefully we'll go someplace interesting. I sort of broke my brain writing this chapter, a lot of listening to the Last Unicorn and the Prince of Egypt soundtracks.  
> Harel has a back story! Eirwen's finding out what it is! Solas and Andruil! There were elves other than the Elvhen! Okay, I made that up.
> 
> I imagine Arlathan as an expansionist power (Solas feels so very colonial to me) and they can't be one without expanding into someone. You gotta get your slaves from somewhere.
> 
> The Uthunuan are my own invention and I took the inspiration for them from Warhammer Fantasy (fitting since Dragon Age pulls a fair amount of its base from there too). I took the opportunity with them to sort of make a stab at expanding what Morrigan kind of revealed at the end of Inquisition about the Eluvians and then my brain went "Wait, if you're part of the Fade then why would you need to create doorways?" Then, I combined this thought with the Anchor and here we are. Hopefully, it fits with the greater Dragon Age setting.
> 
> You'll probably hear me babble about magical theory, Mage: The Ascension, and the awesomeness of correspondence and how there is only one tree instead of many trees in later chapters. Dear god, I'm sorry.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter (despite the headache, genuine from thinking too much).


	9. In This, Our Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirwen chases the dream. Solas has an unsettling realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos on this work! They really do mean a lot to me and I appreciate every one I get!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in this fic, not even the slight alterations and additions I made to the lore. Not even my Lavellan. I just put words in a row.

Harel’s thumb lifted.

Eirwen sank back. Her hands hit dirt. _I am empty,_ Eirwen thought. She could not even hear not-Eirwen. The woman, the woman who had loved Harel, she was a distant and hollow shell. _Cut off from the Fade. Empty. Lost._ She could move again, move her fingers with the woman’s shape. Her toes twitched. Her hands rose to press against her brow. 

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Warm trails slipping down her cheeks in thick, blubbering blobs. “What have you done?” she whispered. “What have _you_ done?” 

Terror shook her voice. _I can’t feel it!_ The woman cried from somewhere inside herself. I can’t feel it! 

She scrambled to her feet. 

The color faded. She stared at the forest. It had glittered in brilliant greens and browns, a beautiful sapphire sky, each leaf and branch distinct. Now, she saw a world of dull and muted tones, fading into shades of gray. Boundaries filled in, her mind contained in boxes. The shining world was gone. 

_He closed the doorway._

She shoved past him, stumbling into the center of the clearing. Her fingers pressed and pushed, itching at the brand. 

_He’s trapped me here!_

Harel turned, but he did not chase her. His dark eyes focused on her face. 

“For what it’s worth, sa’lath,” said a voice from behind her. “We are sorry.” 

She wheeled, watching a second Harel step from the bushes. The scar on his upper lip, his tight cheeks, his chin, from the cleft in his chin to his wide forehead. A perfect imitation, exact in form and measure. Even his voice was the same. He watched her with those same inky eyes, the same slight smile on his lips. 

_There’s two,_ Eirwen thought. _Why are there two?_

“Dirthamen,” the first Harel said. “Cannot be denied.” 

“I can’t feel it,” she whispered. “It’s so dark.” 

_The Mind’s Eye. The Open Doorway. It’s gone._

“Ir abelas, Catriel,” the second Harel said. 

_That is not my name,_ the woman thought. She circled away, one hand out. Palm flat. 

Power rippled through her hand. Eirwen felt its pull. A sealed wall passed behind her eyes. The orb of the noon day sun blackened. The sky shaded a brackish ugly green. There were boundaries and barriers, pooling in a dark hateful center. A separation of self. Distant magic, tendrils. She understood oneness. Now, there was separation. 

“I am Uthunuan,” she said. “You will not make me forget! I will not become like them!” 

“Catriel,” the first Harel began. 

“I will not be one of them!” 

Power rippled through her. A warm orange glow. Flames exploded from her fingertips, setting fire to her brands. A scream ripped from her throat. The blast ricocheted out slamming toward the second Harel. 

He lifted his hand. Twisted his fingers. The flames vanished. 

She let out a furious screech. 

His hand dropped. 

“Catriel,” the first Harel cried. “This is the only way!” 

_I am not Catriel!_ The woman’s mind screamed. In the dimming darkness of her mind, it felt like it could be. Confined and small, meaning in the letters. In the sound. In the ring and formation of syllables to create a word, that word. _That is one of their names! I will not bear their name! I will not accept!_ Yes, Eirwen thought. She would rather be a number, a letter. Rather be nothing than the same as those creatures that bound her. “You betray all that we are!” 

“If you do not accept this, then…” 

“What?” She sneered. “Will you kill me for your new master? By that monster’s decree? For Elgar’nan?” 

“Dirthamen—” 

“Come!” She yelled. Her arms spread. The cold tendrils of the Faded World spilled back through her, a winding tapestry across her shoulders and arms. What was gleaming and bright had become dark, a dim emptiness knotting inside her soul, but… _I can still fight._ “I welcome him to try!” 

Harel’s hand clenched, fingers balling at his side. His eyes dropped to the forest floor. “Ir abelas,” he repeated. “There is nothing more we can do.” 

Her heart shuddered and the power died on her shoulders. 

Blinking back hot tears, Eirwen spun and ran. 

\--- 

Iron Bull didn’t know why the spirit boy decided to join their game after his return from the woods. He didn’t much care. _Probably has something to do with Harel._ A guess. A good guess based on solid evidence, but still only a guess. The kid hadn’t been able to take those rotund yellow eyes off the elf. He barely looked at his cards, just watched him. More and more Iron Bull found himself watching Cole. 

“Flip the face. Straight set. Blades fill the Queen’s head.” 

“Right-o, kiddo,” Harel said. He flipped the cards over with an easy smile and lay them flat on the table. A set of four blades stared up off the table. “Straights.” 

“Nice,” Varric said. Bull watched the dwarf offer a sympathetic grin over his own cards. “Kid’s got a way of ruining the best hands. You planning on raising?” 

Harel chuckled, he kicked up his legs onto their makeshift table and leaned back in his chair. He flipped three coins out. “Three silver.” 

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see,” Varric laughed. “Even the odds.” 

“It’s a losing game anyway,” Harel said. “Luck isn’t with me tonight.” 

“Sounds about right.” 

Iron Bull let his gaze swing sideways, back to Cole. “I see your three silvers,” he said. The boy’s eyes narrowed. “And raise you another two.” 

“Twenty,” Varric said. A small bag hit the table. 

“Well, too rich for my blood!” muttered the scout to their left. “I fold.” 

“Curiosity kills,” Cole muttered. “He sees the voices dancing, shifting shapes. Like a call across a hundred lifetimes.” 

“Not for me.” Another set of silvers scattered across the table. Harel leaned forward. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

“I fold,” Iron Bull said and slid his cards to Varric. 

“What about you, kid?” Varric asked. “You in?” 

Iron Bull watched Cole’s large eyes shift away from Harel, he stared at Varric. The cards hit the wooden surface and slid to the dealer. “Not enough coins.” 

\--- 

Eirwen ran and ran, tearing through the woods. Her heart hammered in her chest, she stumbled into a clearing. Walls built out of slim panes of silver crystal rose up out of the ground. A slim rectangular house behind it. It looked like some sort of den. A small stream cut through the forest to the left. A line strung over the water, a set of simple linens left out to dry. 

Her eyes narrowed. 

Ahead, she saw a bundle of clothes in a basket left out for washing and made her way toward it. Beyond the river, golden pillars rose up through trees, twining spires of silver crystal slipping between waving branches and thick leaves. A soft coloration, but also with harsh and unnatural angles. At odds with the peaceful setting. She smelled the familiar scent of sweatbread cooking and heard the hums of a cook beyond the compound’s inner wall. 

Stepping into the water, Eirwen stripped off her smock and began to wash. The mark on her forehead burned, sending waves of spiking pain through her center. Lashes burning, she wiped pooling water down her arms and let the water carry away the caked black sludge. 

_If I can survive in the woods,_ Eirwen heard the woman’s mind murmur. _If I can, then I’ll travel toward the mountains._ The Fade was cut off to her, there was a wall there. A thick heavy separating line, it kept her from it. _Telsis could still chase me._ Track her through the brand he’d left on her forehead. 

Reaching out, she claimed one of the simple linen dresses from the line and slid it over her shoulders. Stepping from the water, she wiped her cheeks. While the vallaslin said her master served June, Andruil kept a variety of slaves bought from different markets across the Empire. She would not be unusual here. 

It might take some time before she could get out. 

_I will get out,_ Eirwen thought. This dream couldn’t last forever. 

Slowly, she lifted the basket and placed it on her hip. The dress covered her shoulders and arms, her knees. It hid the vast majority of her scars from the mines. Rough linen scratched her spine and she felt the sting of newly closed wounds. 

Eirwen turned and walked past the golden gates. 

Quick steps brought her inside and onto a new scene. A big burly man with great sloping shoulders and a bare face. His chest showed a mass of scars, earned from hunts throughout these woods. Simply from build and size, she could tell him as one of Andruil’s. He was unwinding a whip from his hands. He stood over a much smaller and thinner man with a bare back. Barely more than a boy. 

“Slave! Did I not tell you?” 

The whip cracked. 

“Nae! Master! Nae!” 

Beyond him, she saw two individuals. One with auburn hair swung down past her shoulders, bound back in a mass of slim, tight braids. She reminded Eirwen of the hunters from her clan, except she walked with a swagger like the nobles of Orlais. A walk which said she owned the world and everything in it. Her body was thick and athletic, rippling with well-honed muscles. The other was a man, a very handsome elven male. Tall that the average males she knew, but shorter than the others, even shorter than the woman. He was slim with a lithe body. A great wolf pelt hung off one shoulder. 

They both watched the whipping with amused eyes. 

Their faces were both bare. They emanated power. Their souls glowing beacons behind Eirwen’s eyes. A pair of stars in a great expansive darkness, shining jewels in against a dim background, their souls almost too great to be contained within their shells. Sparking and shimmering, power that might crack through at any second. 

_Yet, they are contained._

Their light barely a fragmentary spark compared to that which the woman had known. They were not the wildfire, not the bonfire, they were barely more than a crackling flame. 

_These are the greatest of Elvhenan. These are their gods._

_Gods?_ Eirwen thought. This time it felt like the woman was talking to her. As if she were part of a living memory, aware of her presence. Seen through the eyes of one who knew she was watching and now stared back. 

A pair of ghostly hands settled on her throat, wrapping around her shoulders. _Yes, da’len. You’ll see._ An incredible pain spiked through Eirwen’s chest. Pieces cracked and shattered in a great shuddering gasp, it rumbled like someone had swung a great mallet into her sternum. The pain of some deep-self cracking and shattering. _My shame._

“Nae, Keeper! Nae!” The boy cried. The whip came down again. He curled into a small ball. Hands up by his head. Arms bloodied with streaks of red. 

“Did I not?” 

“Ir abelas! Isala halani!” 

Behind them, the goddess laughed. Her hand pressed to the chest of the man, spinning him to press against the tree. Attention diverted, expression uninterested. 

“Halani!” 

Eirwen’s fingers clenched around the basket. 

“Enough!” 

A hoarse voice rang across the clearing. 

Her voice. 

The basket clattered to the stone. Laundry spilling sideways. Perfect disguise wrecked. 

The Keeper whirled. 

Eirwen’s fists clenched. The burn on her forehead blazed. Magic slithering down her arms through the narrow sieve. A greater and more powerful pull than Eirwen had ever felt. The burning light of the Fade beneath her skin, the shadowed reality hammering on the closed door. _This is barely a fraction of what she could have called,_ Eirwen realized. _Why didn’t she? Why did she stay?_

_For him,_ came the answer. _For love._

A spear of light rippled before her, tingling spread across her fingers. A reality bore torn wide, energy yanked directly from the Fade. Brilliant and golden, flickering with silver and shadowed by a sickened black-green light. Eirwen felt the woman raise her hand, narrow her eyes. 

_How were you conquered?_

_We did not know war or its sorrows, da’len. We did not know hate or its bindings. We knew our neighbors only by their pale reflection. We did not know how to forgive. And…_ the voice paused. _Even in our fallen state, we did not understand the power of the blood-brand._

The Keeper raised his hand. Snapped his fingers. 

Eirwen’s head flew back. Her skin bubbled. The magic died on her fingertips. A scream shattered through her lips. It echoed through the courtyard. Her knees hit stone. Hands rising to claw at her sizzling skin. With no magic to sustain it, the bore sealed shut. She fell back. 

Her head rolled sideways, cheek resting on cool stone. 

The whip cracked. 

“On your feet, slave!” 

Eirwen scrambled. Her eyes closed. 

_I’m going to die here._

_You must wake up, da’len,_ the voice replied. _When I run, do not follow. There are monsters here no creature should see. Wake up!_

\--- 

Solas started when the woman leaped to her feet. He saw the image flicker. Instead of the raven haired woman from memory, Eirwen stood before the Keeper. Her wide terrified eyes shining brightly in the noon day sun, the vallaslin burning on her skin. Blood wet the sandy stone of Andruil’s courtyard. Wounds sustained here would not follow her home. Yet, the wounds this might leave on her mind and on her spirit… _No,_ he thought. _No, no, no._ He had to act. Had to save her. 

The whip cracked. The Keeper’s eyes locked on Eirwen. “Did I not tell you, slave?” He shouted. “Did I not?” 

Eirwen skipped back, barely escaping the snaking tip of the lash. Those marvelous bright eyes wide, brimming with tears and filled with terror. 

When she looked past the Keeper to him, there was no recognition. _Only fear and… hate._ Yes, there was hate. A rage boiling beneath the surface, Solas remembered. The slave whose position she inhabited had looked at him the same. _This was the first time. The first time I felt the hate of a powerless directed at me. The slave’s hate for what we were._

“An Uthunuan’an,” Andruil murmured. “It’s a wonder Elgar’nan fears them. They have grown so small.” 

“Is… that so?” he managed. “Is this what you fought in the Western Reaches?” 

“The vallaslin did not affect those. They were far more terrifying.” 

_Why is Eirwen doing nothing?_ Solas wondered. He felt Andruil’s arm curling around his neck, her fingers tracing the length of his jaw, forcing him to return to her. His head turned, as it had in the past, his eyes however remained stuck on the Inquisitor. _Why are you not striking him?_

“Nae!” Eirwen cried. Her face drained of color. It was her voice, spoken in a perfect mimicry of the slave’s. Perfectly matching his memory. “Ir abelas, Keeper! Ir abelas!” 

Andruil traced his lips with her fingertip. “Fen’harel?” 

_She is trapped,_ Solas realized. Trapped within the dream current. Such troubles had accosted him when was young. When instead of simply traversing the Fade, he went walking in the dreams of… He inhaled a sharp breath. _Of course._ If the nightmares had come shortly after their arrival in Skyhold then it may have been their first excursion into the Fade that woke her dreaming mind. _She is a true dreamer._ Whether it was only a power gained from her exposure to his foci or not, it mattered little. _I began this._ He had not assisted her, foolishly believed that she would not continue on without further instruction. _That it was a learned skill, not a natural instinct simply needing a bit of encouragement._

“What is it you wish done, Andruil?” The Keeper asked. The whip cracked a second time. The lash slashing out to cut at Eirwen’s legs. This time, she did not move. Blood dripped down her calf. “The slave refuses to bend knee.” 

Andruil waved a lazy hand. “I have no use for that one. She is not worthy of hunting.” Her lips pressed to his stiff ones, one hand sliding to his pants. “Kill her or whatever it is that pleases you, Feralan. I care little.” 

What had happened? He barely remembered this moment. Been more grateful for Andruil’s safe return from the Wars than care about yet one more slave about to die brutally beneath the lash. 

His eyes fixed on Eirwen. 

_Yes._

One more he had not saved. Had not realized he should. 

Yet, so many had come and gone since this moment. So many they went beyond counting, their names forgotten in the annals of history. Many of those he’d believed he would remember forever. Never written down as anything other than a number or letter if their masters chose to not identify them with a name. Now, he could remember neither their shape nor their sound. He could not even remember if Andruil’s Keeper, Feralan had killed this one. 

_Now, she stands in the place of all my sins. A mocking vision calling me to atone, I will be forced to stand by. Do nothing._ He heard his sigh. _No,_ Solas thought. _Not again._

“What is the matter, Fen’harel?” Andruil’s voice echoed in his ears. 

The Keeper was advancing, Eirwen scrambling back. The dream had overtaken her and if there was no one to shake her awake then… _She could die._ Or at least, she would be hurt. _A death in the Fade, will leave her severed. She will become tranquil._

Eirwen’s bright blue eyes narrowed. Her fingers shaking. 

_Calling for magic that will not come._

He shook Andruil loose. 

“Fen’harel!” 

The slave master’s meaty fist came down and caught Eirwen’s cheek. Her head cracked sideways. She stumbled. One hand rose to press against the side of her face. Red drops of blood leaked through her fingers, a cut under her eye. Those marvelous sky eyes lifted, fierce beneath orange bangs. 

Raising her head, Eirwen spat in the elf’s eye. 

He blinked, stumbled. 

“Touch me again, seth’lin!” Eirwen shouted, fists raised. “Just one more time, you blighted bastard!” She stalked forward. “Ar tu na’din!” He knew close combat was not a skill she had mastered. “By Andraste’s flaming knickers!” Without magic, she was practically helpless. “Ma halam! I will see you dead!” Yet, on she came. “Maker’s bursting blackheads!” Pressuring the Keeper back with nothing but her small self and her furious eyes. “I will rip your guts from your garters and string you up by your ass on a flagpole, you piece of—” 

The man’s meaty fist slammed into her nose. Her head flew back, she lurched. A second blow knocked her to the ground. This time, he raised the whip. 

Solas stalked forward, his robes swinging. 

The hand came down. Lash cracking on stone. 

Eirwen lifted her chin, eyes wide open. She did not flinch. 

Solas seized Feralan by the wrist. Wrenching the man’s arm, he hurled him back. “Enough!” 

The whip caught his cheek as he placed himself between them. 

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Andruil murmured. “That one would make an excellent sacrifice.” 

Solas’ heart came to a swift and sudden stop. 

There was a hunger in Andruil’s eyes. The way her gaze studied Eirwen, flicking over each cranny and line in her youthful visage. An aware narrowed gaze with eyes that… _No._ This was not just some dream Harel had sent to torture him. It was Andruil’s dream. _How?_ They were within the Beyond, in its deepest reaches, a prison that should be inaccessible. How had they gotten here? _How?_

He heard footsteps, the pounding of ball and heel racing away. He almost smiled. _Canny as usual._ Eirwen understood what to do when she faced a fight she could not win. She abandoned him to face it alone. _Because she does not know Solas is Fen’harel._ And, he knew, she was still caught in her role in the dream. The slave he had not saved, she fled into the woods chased by her Keeper. What became of her, he did not know. Dread knotted in his belly. _And Eirwen races into it alone._

“I thought I was just caught in yet another pleasant dream,” Andruil said. “However, it seems, I am not as alone with my memories as I thought.” A smile curved her ruby lips, her perfect mouth. “Hello, sa’lath. It has been quite a long time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does one keep slaves from rebelling when all their species is gifted with magic? Magic that can be used (incredibly destructively) regardless of training? Blood magic. The Vallaslin. Branded. Or something. I thought it was a fun idea, anyway.
> 
> I don’t know. I may just really like torturing Solas with the impossible. All comments and kudos are very much appreciated! 
> 
> Elvish translation: Ir abelas: I’m sorry Sa’lath: my one love Seth’lin: thin blood Art u na’din: I will kill you. Isala halani: I need help.


	10. Cried Out From the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Andruil tells Fen'harel a secret, Eirwen heads toward a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who has left comments and kudos! Especially Hallahart, Beelzenef, and MissOwl, getting messages from you guys always lights up my day! 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in this fic, not even the slight alterations and additions I made to the lore. Not even my Lavellan. I just put words in a row.

Eirwen raced through the woods. Warm liquid dripping down her lips, her mouth open, inhaling deep long breaths. She tasted it on her tongue, blood. Copper and iron, the smell of it in her nose and the feel on her skin, it slipped over her lips and drizzled down her throat. Her nose throbbed. Her cheek stung. Dark and tangled, vines swayed down around her head. Branches snagged on her clothes, clawing at her hair. Ahead of her, a shape faded in and out. A body, thin and lithe. A woman, her faded light shimmering blue between the tall tree trunks. Her hands clenched, digging deep into her palms. Bare feet sloshing through the marsh, cold water splashed her ankles.

 _What was that?_ Images filled her brain, the two. The one with the long, braided, brown hair shaved on both sides of his skull. _Who were those people?_ She had been dreaming, following the woman. The woman needed her help.

She felt her calling. A cry screaming from the empty hole inside her heart.

 _Andruil? Fen’harel?_ They had spoken those names, tangled together in each other’s arms. _They couldn’t be!_ The woman’s fingernail tracing down the curve of his cheek, eyes on his lips as he gripped long auburn strands of her hair. A deep red, the dark color of autumn and blood. His demeanor, for a moment, reminded her a little of…

_No!_

He had been young, incredibly handsome, with a smooth face and careless eyes. Solas was careworn and weary, his walk was heavy and his back sometimes hunched like he bore a great weight on his shoulders. That other man strode with life and vigor, sure in who he was, what he was worth, and what he wanted.

 _Solas would not laugh at that boy’s pain!_ She thought fiercely. _He wouldn’t!_

 _Yet…_ the cooler aspect of her brain murmured. _If he believed he had something to gain…_

Eirwen shook her head.

_I am not thinking about this._

The task at hand, that was important. Escaping this nightmare, that was important. Trying to figure out what happened back there would only confuse the issue and wouldn’t help the process of actually freeing herself. _I can ponder when I’m out._

Her eyes focused on the spirit. Allowed the woman’s crying filled her ears. Ready to follow it to its source. Instead of pain, she found words. Elvish she couldn’t quite translate.

_Viran sa la’aan? Ir annala for ros…_

The words resounded through her. Hammering in her chest.

Overhead, the sky was black. Streaks of green cut across the horizon. Unearthly, brackish, cold. The dark trees slashed at her arms and her legs. Brambles cut into her feet. Blood trailed behind her. A long drizzling crimson line through a murky marsh.

_Nae!_

Her hand throbbed. Sparks of green sputtering in the dank air.

_Ga rhan!_

Sore footsteps carried her on. Orange bangs plastered her forehead. Mist caught in her eyes. Trees grew closer together. In her chest, the emptiness echoed. A dull, sad ache where her heart had once been.

Her left hand clenched, green and silver light spilling out across slick emerald leaves.

_Nae! Ga rhan, da’len! Inan tel’revasan!_

Cutting between thick trunks, she chased the blue spirit. Black spot clung behind her eyes. New voices rose, joining in an unending chorus as they vibrated through her empty center. Ahead, the trees parted to reveal a clearing. A marsh, filled with grass rising from a clear, pale blue pool. A line of mirrors curved its edge in an endless circle.

A shadow man stood in the center, his feet upon the water. The shifting surface of the pool did not wet the hem of his long robe.

_Dirthamen! Ir tel’him! Tel’him! Dirthamen! Inan tel’in uthenera!_

Eirwen stumbled into the clearing. Collapsing, her knees splashed into a pool. Her eyes dropped. Gaze swaying. A set of eyes stared back. Clear, crystalline yellow eyes. Eyes that were not her own. Fingertips slipped across the surface. Inhaling the dank and the damp, Eirwen lifted hers.

_Harellan! Harellan!_

Tall winged shoulders, covered in dirty plumes. A chest piece stabbing up from his chest. Visage hidden by half a hood. Red spikes cut up off his cheeks and forehead, melted into waxy skin. Dark eyes and a viciously twisted smile. His left hand held high, a small black orb curled in skeletal talons.

 _Corypheus!_ Eirwen stumbled back.

The orb sparked. A liquid yellow-green flashing and swirling across its surface.

_Fen’harel! Ma ghilana mir din’an!_

Water rose, twining around her body in long, slick tentacles. Wrenching her arms down, body bent back. A wet, fetid hand clapped across her mouth. Wet weeds clung to her skin, filling her nose with scents of brine and rotten flesh.

_Emma tel’revas! Ar lasa mana revas! Ma revas!_

Slowly, Corypheus extended the orb toward her.

_Halani! Mala isala halani!_

Light seized and shivered through her. Shuddering across her skin, worming deep inside her soul. _I am the woman,_ Eirwen realized. The woman was her. One and the same. _We are._

A portal slashed the sky, tearing wide a green whirling pinwheel through the darkness. Yellow-green burned through shadows and skittering across the pool. A crystal reflection shone back. And Eirwen saw stars. They drifted up out of the water, countless rising. Each a tiny fractured piece, a mirrored reflection. In those mirrors, there were faces. Her face and eyes reflecting back, overshadowing so many others. Faded. Dark. Their fists beat against the glass. Their screams tore through her mind.

Black tentacles draped down, brushing over her forehead and cheeks.

The water lifted her.

Her eyes found the portal. The flat face of a mirror, reflecting down. A monster with a hundred thousand eyes flickering before a black, twisted, brackish sea-green sky.

Down a tentacle plunged, spearing through her center.

Eirwen opened her mouth to scream.

Words whispered in her ear, the dry echo of an ancient nightmare.

_Mala suledin nadas._

_Now, you must endure._

 

Eirwen jerked awake with a cry.

 

\---

 

“Ah, my love,” Andruil smiled. “My betrayer.” She swaggered forward. “My broken one.” He watched the gold and silver walls of the hunting lodge vanish. “What shall I do with you?” Her hands disappeared behind her back and a long bow emerged, already restrung. Its golden length glinted in the sun. Her moon-silver irises glowed, her lips yanked into a smile that exposed her sharp canines.

“There is little you can from here, Andruil,” Solas said. “And none you have not done already.”

“Is that so? I have to wonder what two scurrying mice thought they might learn within the depths of dreams and memory.”

 _She does not realize this was an accident,_ Solas realized. If she did not, then she would not kill him. _If she believes I have a way in, then she might believe there is a way out._ He’d have used it already if he knew what it was.

“You may pretend if you like, sa’lath,” Andruil replied. “I, however, saw your new pretty. She must be an interesting child if you exposed yourself to save her. Yes, quite interesting.”

Solas felt his gut clench.

“You were always one to sacrifice others in the name of the cause. I do wonder, what is it this week? Shall we feed the orphans? Free the dogs? Teach the cats to speak and sing?” She lay a golden arrow across her bow. “What is the trick, my heart? What are you seeking?”

He stepped forward. “I want nothing from you.”

“Clearly, an ace is up your sleeve.” Andruil wet her lips with her tongue. “Or did you miss me?”

He glowered. “I have not,” he replied. “Not for a single moment since we parted.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “I see, you have replaced me quickly and with no regrets. You have found a child worthy of your sacrifice?”

He stiffened.

“I should not be surprised. Fiery redheads have ever been your type.”

“She is nothing like you,” Solas hissed.

Andruil chuckled. A warm, rough rumble that rose up in his memory. “Is that so, sa’lath?” The weapon hung in her hands, thumb and forefinger braced against the arrow’s end. “I agree, she is far uglier.” She lifted her bow. “Yet, for all her faults, perhaps we have more in common than you care to see.”

Solas felt his eyes narrow, ice struck his belly and he heaved a great gulp of air. Jaw clenching, he lifted his chin. She could be cruel and ruthless, she could be reckless, and she did not always make choices he agreed with, but… _Eirwen is warm, she is gentle, and she is kind to those less fortunate than herself. She has a worthy goal and a worthy dream, she wishes to improve the world for us all. You and she share nothing._ “Other than a surface similarity in hair color, there is none.”

“Oh? As always, beloved, you fool yourself. We cannot escape each other, you and I.” Her grin widened. “No matter what pale shadow you use on your long lonely nights, no matter how you may try to replace me.”

He took a step back. “There is nothing left, Andruil.”

“Never,” Andruil replied. Her voice was neither hurt nor defiant, it was a simple statement. Fact as she saw it. “We are one.” Lifting her bow, she completed knocking her arrow and drew. The arrow touched her ear. “We have forever, sa’lath. In time, you will remember.”

“Yes!” he snapped. “Forever shall I remember your betrayal on the steps of the Coliseum, Andruil! I will remember Mythal’s murder! The atrocities you visited upon our people in the name of sport, I—”

Her laugh rang across the clearing. “You remember _nothing,_ beloved.”

“I remember everything,” he said. His eyes dropped, away from the golden bow and the arrow she pointed at his heart. His fingers clenched into a fist. _Eirwen is out there somewhere. She is trapped. She may be suffering. She may be dying._ He almost closed his eyes. _She may be dead._ “Everything.”

“Have we ever been more? Can hate exist without love? They are one as we are.”

 _If she is,_ Solas thought. _All my hopes die with her._ The shattered remnants of his heart as well, he had already watched so many dreams die agonizing deaths. Awoken in a world worse for the People than the one he left. Found only one small beacon in the torrent of loss, a beacon he could not even be sure he had not accidentally fabricated.

He lifted his eyes to Andruil. He remembered tangling his fingers in her hair, drawing her down on a bed of reeds, the calls of the snowy owl echoing overhead, her moon-silver eyes widening as she gasped. “I have given up. There are no better days,” Solas replied. “Not for us. They will never come again.”

“Well,” Andruil murmured. “I have time.” Her white teeth gleamed as she laughed. “The question is, do you?”

 _There is someone else here._ His eyes narrowed. “Out with it, Andruil!”

“I have traveled this cage you built, I have walked the Twisting Path many times in search of the locks.” Her eyes flicked over him. “I’ve not found them. You did well.” Her bland tone indicated surprise. “In my dreams, I have heard the cries of the others. Their sleep is restless. Vengeful.”

He snorted. He expected nothing less.

She tilted her head, auburn braids swaying down her back. Again, her grin widened. “And other cries as well. They echo here. Mixing in all our memories as they scream out to their master.”

“It is a trap?”

“Yes,” Andruil cocked her head. “You hear it, do you not? Theirs is a sweet symphony of agony.”

 _Cries?_ Solas nodded as she expected. _I have heard nothing._

“This trap is not yours alone, sa’lath.” She nodded in the direction Eirwen had run. “There is a creature that way. Where your girl has gone. She undoubtedly listens to its siren call, for it is built to draw in the weak and the spineless. It will claim her soul soon, as it has done before to all those foolish enough to listen.”

 _Harel,_ Solas thought. _Is this his doing? Did he send Eirwen here with me? Does he seek to trap her?_

“Free me, I will aid you. I will tell you what I know.”

His jaw clenched. _I must remain calm._ “If it is a trap, then it must have a target.”

“Yes. The trap is Dirthamen’s,” Andruil replied. “He built it for you.”

Solas blinked. “Me?”

“Quite so, beloved. Did I not say it was meant for the weak and the spineless?” Andruil’s smile grew cruel and cold. “His is a legendary scheme. One worthy of the greatest tricksters, built as only a god of secrets can. If it does as it is meant, it will tear down all you build and destroy all you love.”

Swallowing, Solas locked eyes with Andruil.

 _Eirwen._ Her name pounded through him. As ever, his wayward Inquisitor raced straight into the jaws of death. _And I have no way to find her, no way to tell her, no way to stop her._ In his mind’s eye, he saw Dirthamen’s hands wrap across her empty sockets. Watched her toss her eyes high. Harel and Harel sweeping off each shoulder to swallow them whole. Her life, her mind, her memories, all she was would be claimed, ground down, and destroyed.

 _I don’t need the Inquisitor to trust me,_ Harel’s voice whispered. _She’ll do what I want regardless._

The echoing laughter of ravens reverberated through his skull. Now, Andruil’s joined the chorus.

 

\---

 

Eirwen sat still in the dimness of the tent. She caught the shadowy shapes cast across the walls as the scouts patrolled, backlit by the glow of the torches. Cool fingers pressed against her skin, running along the curve of her vallaslin. The memory of the burns alive on her skin. Tongue sliding through her lips, slicking her dry mouth. _It was so real._ She pressed her fist to her chest. _It was real._

Harel and his twin, the woman who was not Catriel, Andruil and Fen’harel, the Keepers… Slavery… The greatness of her ancestors built on the backs of slaves and conquered nations.

_Like Tevinter… I still feel the weight of chains on my wrists, the scars from chafing; the strips on my back from years under the lash, my broken nose…_

Slowly, she traced the vallaslin. The blood brands, she’d worn them proudly. _I still do!_ Nails sinking lightly into her flesh, she ground her teeth and flattened her palms over mouth. There, she muffled a scream. Hot tears splashing down her cheeks. _It couldn’t be real!_ Her people, Arlathan, everything she’d been taught… _Is it all a lie? Like Solas said? Are we just children repeating stories we’ve heard wrong a thousand times until fact became myth and legend became fact? Were we never truly free?_

This dream had been as real as the one she’d shared with Solas in the Fade.

 _Whatever else it meant…_ She bit her lip. _It’s trouble._

“I wish Istimaethoriel was here,” Eirwen murmured into her fingers. “I wish…”

 _I wish I had someone to talk to._ She glanced down at the bed, Solas lay next to her. His head still resting on his shoulder, even now his limp arm slightly pulled around her waist. Stretched out to keep hold. _He stayed that way all night,_ she thought. _Until he fell asleep._ Like a silent guardian watching over her. _Even if his spell didn’t work._ She leaned over and tilted her head. Her shadow falling across his pale visage, Eirwen watched his nostrils slightly expand with each even breath.

“I hope you’ll have an answer, Solas,” she said. “When you wake. You like to pretend you know everything.”

Her hand passed over him. Slowly beginning at his forehead, she worked her way down inch by inch until she came to his nose and mouth. Warm breath misted across her palm as she watched his nostrils flair, just ever so slightly, eyes lingering on the soft inhale through his lips. The lines around his eyes and cheeks relaxed.

A smile curved her lips.

Solas was young when he slept, his worried creases smoothed as he slumbered in silence.

 _It’s good,_ she thought. Biting her lip, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his brow. _He’s still here._ Sometimes, she worried she’d wake and find him gone like so many others she loved. His skin cold. Body little more than an empty shell. Or, Eirwen closed her eyes, simply vanished. No letter, no note, she would wake up one day, crawl out of her aravel into the gray light of dawn, and find him gone. _Just like Mamae._

Yes, she caressed his head, those sad eyes. She’d seen them before. On other faces, in the tattooed scars of other hearts.

Tucking her legs up to her chest, Eirwen let her thumb stroke the bald curve above his forehead. Her index finger slid toward his ear, just the very tip. Silently, she pressed her lips into her knees.

 _Mamae. Apae._ Both her mother and father were gone. Her Clan far from here. Their memory a dull distant ache. A hole like the one her heart, one not caused by any supernatural event. _Just loneliness._ A small laugh shook her shoulders, muffled by her knees. Yes, Eirwen thought, loneliness was her monster and the thought of another sleeping next to her gave her chills.

 _And yet,_ she smiled. _I wanted him to stay._

Wanted to trust him.

Sighing, Eirwen rested her chin on her knees. She had not slept with a man near her bed, not since the night her father died and she had not wanted one. She barely recalled his face, other than those hard flinty eyes. She remembered him as distant. Caring, kind, a man who showed his love in small gestures of kindness. A stitched doll with bright red hair, crafted with his own hands tucked into hers when her mother wasn’t looking. Cutting up the pieces of his old bowstring to build one her size. A warm hand on her hair when she drew correctly, those same hands swinging her up toward the sun. He had walked with a stiff limp, but it hardly seemed to matter.

Istimathoriel told her he’d been wounded in a hunting accident, the same one in which he’d met her mother. _When the druffalo landed on his leg._

She swallowed.

 _I never knew just how much he loved me._ Not until the night when the humans came.

It had been the dead of winter and she barely four. Only a few weeks past her nameday. She remembered their torches, orange and red flame, glittering and bobbing in the woods like the intricate dance of fireflies in summer. Behind them, a deep endless black stretching on and on only to be swallowed up by the Void. That winter had been a hungry one, and she remembered the aching pangs of it. A great famine had struck the land and left both village and Clan starving.

She still remembered smell leather, boiled in a bubbling pot. Shredded bits of boots and armor on the dirty floor of the araval. Her small hands stretching toward the flame, only to be slapped down. Too tired and hungry to make a sound. Stripped down into small chunks, pieces soft enough for her teeth to chew. Handed to her by callused fingers that gently brushed her long hair back.

Those same hands had swept her up. Carried her into the woods. Her eyes remained on the fires. Behind them, the halla began to bellow. Frightened screams ended by twanging arrows. The soft thunk that shook the arms holding her tight.

Slow, lumbering footsteps carried her deeper and deeper into the dark. Where only the cold and shadows welcomed her. Breath frosted on the air. She’d clung to her father’s neck. Carried as he crept and crawled, and brought her into some dark hole. She remembered the sensation of being buried. Dried leaves left from fall and dirt piling up on her body, insulating. A heavy shape collapsing on her. Crushing. Her hands pressed to her mouth. Legs tucked tight to her chest, tiny fingers shivering in the dark.

Words, the last words, still remained inside her. _Ar… emm’asha._

Eirwen shook her head.

A hot tear splashed her knuckles.

_It was winter and I had nowhere to go._

Lying there, her heart pounding in her chest. Too scared to cry. To make a single sound. All mournful wails dying in her throat as she huddled in her small ball. Ear pressed to the ground. Listening to shouts, for footsteps. Felt her father’s warm body cooling and stiffening. Hot liquid pooling on her back. Her fingers finding fabric of his shirt, pushing and shaking, body rocked with silent sobs. Until his warm breath no longer pulsed against her ear. Until he was no more than a heavy stone crushing air out from her small body. Until she finally realized the long sleep had taken him. He would never move again.

Long hours passed. No one came.

Cold setting into her fingers, her toes. Chilled lips pressed into stone.

Slowly, she’d sucked in a deep breath.

Then, she wriggled free. One hand and then another, scabbed knees hard on uneven stone. Tiny fingers pushing and clawing through the leaves into the cold gray light of dawn.

Eirwen’s hands scraped down her arms in memory.

Plains of white spread out before her, endless and echoing. Gray clouds trailing across the sky. The pale blue of a cold winter. Her bare toes stiff and reddened. Fingers clutching the hem of her gray dress. Cloth bunching beneath her nails, her eyes shifting back and forth. Her heartbeat exploded in her chest. A tongue swept across cracked lips. Parched. Hunger forgotten, replaced by terror.

Snow had fallen. Coating tall pines with drifting particles of white, like a frigid blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Crystalline ice glistened in the sunshine. The red trail of blood and footprints obscured by a pure and unending layer of snow.

_Then, the Keeper found me._

Istimathoriel appeared from the trees. A halo of gold, sunlight shimmering on her white hair. The crystal of her staff glowing with a ruby-orange light. One hand lifted. A small doll, head full of scraggly red yarn, hanging from her long fingers. Her gaze rose. A warm smile breaking on her leathery face.

_There you are, da’len. We were worried._

_When I saw her, I no longer felt the cold. I knew what warm meant. She reminded me of the sun, reaching out to take my hand._

_Come, she said. Let us return home._

_Yes,_ Eirwen’s hand drifted and lay to rest Solas’ forehead. _Home._

She closed her eyes.

When she thought of the word now, the image which came to mind was not of aravels or forests. It was not the gentle sounds of Craftmaster Garan shaving the ironbark, his rumbling hum lulling the wood to shape. Not Junven teaching the younglings the Vir’Tanedan, or Salassan and Cydis competing with their bows in the woods beyond Fen’harel’s statue. It was not Istimathoriel’s warm voice reading tales to her from the scrolls in ancient elvish, nor the halla calling to Nolva from the pens. The smell of Panna’s morning bread rising as she baked it in the dark hours before dawn.

It was not the rocks, trees, bushes around Wycome in the Free Marches. Not the forests, or the mountains, or the rivers that sang in great rushing voices or in the soft bubbling whisper of a brook.

No, her thumb stroked his brow. Now, all she saw was him.

When had it happened? When had Solas become her home?

 _I don’t even know if I love him._ Yet, at the same time, it hardly seemed to matter. What she felt when she looked at him went far beyond want or need. It just was. Simple pleasures were enough. Like the joy of his company on a rainy day. A philosophical debate on her latest piece of trivia, discussing Circle practices and the methods with which to draw magic. The small, grateful smile that touched his lips when she asked a question. The way he took her fingers, both hesitant and sure. _When he taught me new Elven swear words._

She smiled.

Then, she laughed.

“Ar lath ma,” Eirwen said. “I love you.” She tilted her head, bangs flopping across her brow. With her free hand, she pushed them back. “I just thought you should know.” Leaning down, she kissed his temple. He didn’t stir, only rolling slightly. “Even if I never say it properly.”

Her legs slid off the edge the cot. She stood slowly, she had slept in her clothes and her boots. Not unusual, the nights often provided little in the way of relaxation. Even the long, safe nights like this one where she bed down in some place protected by the Inquisition. Fixing her collar, she redid the straps of her jerkin and walked to the edge of the tent.

 _Mala suledin nadas,_ the words resounded through her. _Now, you must endure._

Her lips compressed into a thin line. _I’ll get through this._ Hand tightening against her thigh as her nails bit into her palm. _I endured Apae’s death and Mamae’s abandonment. I will endure this too, whatever comes._

“The question is what?” Eirwen wondered aloud. “Endure what?”

_It’s time to see Harel._

There were answers waiting for her. If necessary, she would force them from him.

“Solas.” Lifting the tent flap, Eirwen glanced back. “Whatever comes, you are my home.”

Then, she exited the tent and walked into the night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the players are settling into the game. The pieces on the board are being revealed. Either way, it’ll be a long way to happy. We do it to ourselves, don’t we? There are answers out there somewhere and someone has to find them sometime.
> 
> I appreciate all the messages I’ve gotten for this story. Really, they mean a lot to me and always push me to keep working. If you’re enjoying this, let me know. I’d love to hear it. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
>  
> 
> _Elvish Translation:_
> 
>  
> 
>  _Viran sa la’aan? Ir annala for ros…_ \- How did you find this place? It has been lost for centuries (canon phrase from Dragon Age: Origins)  
>  _Nae! Ga rhan, da’len! Inan tel’revasan!_ \- No! Get away, little child! In this place, no freedom dwells!  
>  _Dirthamen! Ir tel’him! Tel’him!_ – Dirthamen! I am not transforming!  
>  _Dirthamen! Inan tel’uthenera!_ – Dirthamen! In this place, there is no waking dream!  
>  _Harellan! Harellan!_ – Trickster! Trickster!  
>  _Fen’harel! Ma ghilana mir din’an!_ – Fen’harel! Guide me into death!  
>  _Emma tel’revas! Ar lasa mana revas! Ma revas!_ – I’m not free! I was once free! Free me!  
>  _Halani! Mala isala halani!_ – Help! Now, I need help!  
>  _Mala suledin nadas_ \- Now, you must endure.


	11. We Are the Future and We’re Here to Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andruil tempts Solas, while Eirwen confronts Harel. He reveals a surprising truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything. Nothing. This setting and the characters belong to Bioware. They aren't mine. I just put the words in a row.

Overhead, the moon burned brightly. Its silver light overpowering the torches set to protect their camp from intruders. The surrounding forest was quiet, the only noise came from the clearing, from the laughter of Inquisition soldiers as they waited in darkness for their next shift. Somewhere among them, Harel waited.

Eirwen wondered if it would be difficult to find him. She didn’t know his patterns or his habits. After all, she’d only met him the day before. There were certainly expectations she could have for his behavior, were he Dalish. _But he isn’t, is he?_ If that dream had been more than a dream, if it had been a memory then… _Yes, it was._ The Beyond was a mysterious place, an intersectional point of sorts between two different worlds, which the many minds of Thedas brushed up against when they slept. It was a place of wonder and danger, of demons and spirits, and of memory. What she had experienced, that nightmare, had been someone’s memories. _Whose?_ Not hers, surely. _It felt so real._ Arlathan was five thousand years dead. _Yet, Harel was there. I saw him._ She’d known him by another name. _Telsis._ Another type of elf, another elven culture, another… _The Uthunuan._ _I didn’t know there could be other cultures! I didn’t know there were other kinds of elves!_

It changed everything, everything about what she’d been taught. What she’d learned about the past and Elvish history, the tales her people told. _We have no records of the time before Arlathan, of other cultures, of other histories, we know so little. We don’t even know how much we’ve lost._

Her fingers brushed against her forehead, fingertips tracing the line of her vallaslin. Cool pads moved over the blood writing. _More than I ever dreamed possible._ These were marks of adulthood and now symbols of slavery. It didn’t make sense. How had these marks survived? If they were lost, how had they been revived? Was it after the fall of Arlathan, when Shartan led the slaves to rebuild the Dales? Or before? _Why did we keep these?_ As far as she understood, they’d always worn the vallaslin.

_Focus, Eirwen._ She scrubbed her fingernails against her forehead, half-expecting to find a scar. _Harel isn’t Dalish. He didn’t join the Inquisition because he wanted to help. He must be here for a reason._ He was pointing her toward that Temple, guiding her. _What is in that temple?_

At the end of her dream, she had seen Corypheus holding an orb. The same one she’d seen him use at Haven to control her hand. _But, that can’t be right._ The orb, Solas had said it was elven. An elven artifact of some kind, though he’d never specifically said what it could do. _Other than rip open rifts in the Veil._ Was this the same kind of object? Or was it different. It couldn’t really be Corypheus. Could it? _Not unless some kind of time magic is at play or the timeline has been completely bjorked by yet another experimenting mage._ Corypheus hadn’t been alive during the time of Arlathan. _Maybe I filled in the blanks with my own memories. Maybe it was something similar?_

She sighed.

_I wish I could remember._

Overhead, the silver orb of a full moon glittered. The sky full of stars. A light, warm breeze moved through the trees, whistling through the underbrush. In the shadows, beyond the tents, she caught sight of a large black body nestled in the branches. Harel’s raven. Its intelligent black eyes swept back and forth, watching.

She crossed her arms and swallowed.

_Confronting an ancient, immortal elf alone is a stupid idea. It’s moronic, idiotic, and everything in between, a mewling baby would be smarter._

So… why did she feel like she had to? She could tell the others. Track down Varric, Bull, and Cole, wake up Solas, tell them all about her dream. Tell them about Harel and his connection to Dirthamen, tell them what they might expect when they got there. _All I have to do is tell them._ And knew she wouldn’t. Should, but couldn’t. _They aren’t… Dalish._ This was her history, her people, everything she believed hung on a thread and felt the weight of it, felt it all about to come crashing down. _A joke from Varric, maybe commiseration from Iron Bull. Solas and his smug expression, an ‘I told you so’ even in pity._ He valued being right above almost everything else. _He might be. What cold comfort!_ And Cole? _Cole will offer comfort and compassion. It’ll be wonderful, he will try._ And he would probably fail, though through no fault of his own. He was kindness incarnate, but sometimes kindness alone just wasn’t enough.

Turning away from the forest, her eyes swept the camp. A bellow of laughter brought her attention to the set of men sitting around a makeshift card table. Iron Bull, Varric, and Harel all slapping coins down a tree stump as they held their cards close.

_Still, I need to go into that temple alone._

A small smile quirked her mouth. She had friends.

_Why?_

“It’s dangerous,” Cole whispered at her elbow. “They won’t help. They’ll want to, but can’t. _‘This is beyond us.’ She already knows._ _‘I don’t want them to die.’_ ”

Eirwen glanced at him. Reaching out, she settled a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Ir abelas, Cole,” she murmured.

“It is dangerous,” Cole said. “He is dangerous. Tricksy. Trickster. Built of lies. A shade. The shadowed reflection of a brilliant star. _He presses her to the tree. Tongue scraping up her throat. A moment of hope, damning in destruction. A liar who didn’t mean to lie. He wanted to save her. She couldn’t let go. ‘Here we are at the end, built upon a house of cards,’ he thinks when he looks. ‘A new star may be enough. Worth the risk, if everything must be.’_ You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I know.”

“But you will, you want to help,” Cole continued. “Solas won’t like it.”

Her arm slipped around his shoulders and she hugged him tight. Cole buried his nose in her shoulder, the brim of his hat cutting into her neck. “I have to try.”

“Yes,” he said. “You are you. Bright. Real. You shine. Glimmering. Glittering. Brilliantly building a path into both places. Like Solas, but different. The One Who Walks. The voices know. They feel you. Know you. Sneak into your dreams. If you go, they’ll eat you. Rip apart your pieces. They eat everyone who tries.”

“I know.” Yes, Eirwen realized, she really did. The voices in her head, they always only called to her. The song died when the others tried to follow. _They need me. Don’t they?_ Yes.What he said… it made sense. She sighed. _Except, he’s wrong too._ “They’ll eat the rest of you if you go, won’t they? The others, they’ll start to hear.”

Cole stiffened and went quiet.

_Yes,_ she thought. That was the answer she needed. Already, Eirwen could feel the song moving through the trees. It had been softer before, distant. Now, the words had changed. If she closed her eyes, she’d hear it. _We are what you need._ The call of power winding through the trees, the opposite of what the woman in her dream had screamed. _Stay away, she said._ _Which is real?_ Rubbing her forehead, Eirwen sighed. _Probably both._ “Harel is the only one with answers,” she said. “I’m the only one he’ll give them to.”

“He deceives,” Cole replied softly.

“Yes,” Eirwen nodded, “but Cole, the best liars, they do it with the truth.”

 

***

 

“What is the trap, Andruil?” Solas demanded.

The golden arrow loosed from her bow, whizzing past his ear. He heard it hit some distant creature, another shade passing within Andruil’s dreams. She threw back her head when he jumped, laughing. “Oh, sa’lath,” she shook her head, mass of auburn braids shaking down the length of her back. “Let me free and I will tell you.”

“Tell me first,” he answered. His heartbeat quickened, pounding in his chest. “Then, perhaps, I will share what I know.”

Her brows rose over moon-silver eyes. She rested the tip of her great golden bow on the paved golden stone; all that remained of her hunting lodge. Her ruby lips pursed, head tilting. Irises flicked back and forth as they moved over him, checking for a lie.

_I should be chasing Eirwen._ He had to find her. She was most important, the only aspect of this dream which mattered and she was already injured. Already frightened. _We cannot stop Corypheus without her._

“I admit,” Andruil said. “I do enjoy listening to them. Their pain is an entertaining relief from the dull mundane nature of this cage.” She studied him. “However, sa’lath, I know theirs is not what will interest you.”

“No?” he asked. “Am I now immune to the suffering of others? Is that not how we found ourselves in this predicament? My inability to stand idly is no longer to be noted? Or has the utter destruction of Arlathan fled your memory?”

Andruil laughed. “Ah, my love. As ever, so dramatic.”

“If not the pain of others, then what? What do you believe Dirthamen intends to tempt me with?”

“Power,” Andruil replied. “Of course.” She raised a hand and a small orb appeared in her palm. An elven orb, made from smooth black stone with soft swirling ridges across its surface. A focus key, exactly like his own. “With this. Dirthamen called it the Elgar’arla Bellanaris.”

_The Eternal Spirit Trap._ Solas almost shook his head. The name was foolish, bland, and uninspired. He could think of a thousand similar items with such a name.

“Created to capture and contain the quintessence of a god.”

He nearly stepped back. _A memory only,_ Solas thought _. It is part of this dream, it is not real._ “And how did you come by this knowledge? I doubt Dirthamen spilled his plans to you.”

“He did not have to. I have explored the boundaries of this cage, found its limits, found its residents. So many minds you’ve trapped. Our entire delegation masked behind this mirror. The others, they sleep yet. Imprisoned in the madness of their minds.” She tilted her head. “And I? I have not forgotten all you taught me about Dreams, beloved.”

He frowned. “You plucked it from Dirthamen’s mind?”

Undoubtedly, hers remained in her possession. Clutched in one hand while she slumbered. Each orb was a store to hold all their excess energy, information, and knowledge, to be kept safe during the Long Sleep. Andruil never let hers out of sight.

Andruil laughed. “It was always Falon’din who endeavored to understand the Beyond as you did, vhenan. To explore and travel its pathways. For all they shared, Dirthamen lacked his twin’s natural talent. He required others with greater ones to aid him, bound servants to accomplish half as much. Those are beyond him here. Awake, he is a nightmare. In dream? Helpless.”

_He had a second focus. And he created it to be used as a trap? Why?_ Dirthamen’s might hold his many secrets. _Did he build it from his own energy? Or did he find another source?_ The questions were endless, but his mind churned with the possibilities. It was not uncommon to keep more than one orb, but to subdivide their power in such a way was dangerous. If he had simply used it to channel the magic of his followers through the vallaslin, it would not be so unusual. The others often used devices to store up their excess power and the excess they skimmed off the top of all collected from the slaves within their domains.

Still, unbound magic could easily be stolen or taken by anyone with sufficient talent. Best to keep it all in one place, to keep it secure.

_Bound servants… Harel?_ The Dalish legend of Dirthamen binding Fear and Deceit so he might travel the Beyond to find Falon’din was a fanciful story. It had no basis in fact.

Solas swallowed, pursing his lips. “And the orb?”

“It holds a manufactured essence, equal in power to any within our Pantheon.” She rolled the ball on her palm. “The same kind Elgar’nan once drained from a hundred thousand slaves. You remember the day he elevated Ghilnan’nain.”

Frowning, Solas crossed his arms. Yes, he did remember. Elgar’nan claimed a great sacrifice from the lands of all the other gods, pooled the slaves’ magical talents, and severed them within a focus. The slaves remained, little more than mindless workers. _Tranquil._ A gift for Ghilnan’nain, to place her on an even plane with the rest of the gods. _With the exception of Mythal and Elgar’nan himself._

Tossing it into the air, Andruil caught it again. “This, however, has grown far greater in strength than even Elgar’nan’s. It is shapeless yet, formless energy held in trust. Unbound, it waits for a master strong enough to wield it. To claim it as their own.”

Solas inhaled sharply. His eyes locked on the black ball as it bounced in her hand. _A replacement for the one I lost to Corypheus._ _A second chance to fix my mistake._ He felt his mouth water, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth. There it was, a solution to all his problems. A way to get his plans back on track that did not require the Inquisition or the Inquisitor.

He would no longer need to stay hidden inside a faltering organization, one backed by the fallen and shortsighted even as they were worthy. He would not be forced to place all his hopes in their success, in _her_ success. _Yes, perhaps it will even provide a way to keep her safe from Corypheus, from risking her life, from making in any necessary sacrifice,_ he thought, _if Andruil can be trusted._

“There now,” Andruil said. “You see? All thoughts of your girl-child forgotten.” She snapped her fingers and the orb vanished. “I know you well, sa’lath. You will throw all away for victory.”

He blinked.

“In exchange for my freedom, I will give its location with you. I may even help you claim it.”

_For yourself._ Solas swallowed. Andruil had said Eirwen would be lured by the orb to her destruction. If so, then it must be by the offering of power. Called by the voices to come and take it for herself. _Power is Dirthamen’s lure, irresistible power._ Power beyond even wildest imagination. Could she be tempted by it? _She has been hearing voices. Those have called out to her._ She’d admitted as much. _Was Dirthamen’s trap calling to her through the Anchor?_ Was this all the result of his magical brand on her soul, luring her in his place?If so, what was the catch?

_Perhaps,_ he thought. Andruil seemed unaware of his magic’s absence. _It will tear down all you love, she said._ If it was meant to tear down all he loved, would it have targeted Eirwen regardless? He did not know, could not know. It would require more thought. _Harel may have answers._ Or Harel could be the one attempting to trap the Inquisitor, to lure her to her destruction, who sent her the dreams and who tuned her to the voices. He was certainly the most likely suspect. _Part of some long scheme by Dirthamen? Why?_ What did he hope to gain?

None of it made sense.

“This prison cannot last forever,” Andruil continued. Twin silver orbs burned in her skull. Her ruby lips peeled back to expose sharp teeth. A gleeful expression lit those moon colored eyes. “Combine this with your focus and you will be a power to rival us all when we wake. Greater than Falon’din. Greater than Mythal. Greater than even Elgar’nan himself. You could lead us, sa’lath.”

_Why do you not want it for yourself, then?_ Solas wondered. “You called it a trap, Andruil. One built for the weak and the spineless. You know yourself as neither.”

“Indeed, but you know as well as I,” Andruil replied, her voice mild. “The greatest flaw of every trickster is hubris.”

 

***

 

Cole had not wanted to let her go. _I still managed it._ She expected he’d stay close, even as she approached Harel. Close, but unobtrusive. Out of sight. Cole… _I don’t want him to get hurt._ He might anyway, and if Harel scared him then… _I certainly can’t trust him._ Though, she had to wonder if it was ever her intention to. There were the dreams, the man she’d met in those certainly was untrustworthy. _Yet he also could be once. He was changed. By Dirthamen? Yes. He became… someone else._ The woman who was not Catriel, her memories still fluttered through Eirwen’s mind. The welling of feelings when she looked at Harel, the burn in her stomach, the anger, the cold knots of horror, the desperate yearning, they were all there.

Gentle as a butterfly’s wings, thrumming in her skull.

Harel sat by the fire with Iron Bull, Varric, and another Inquisition soldier, laughing as he lay down another set of cards. His pile of coin was very small, while the others were very large. An easy smile cut across his mouth, his black eyes not on the table but following the players around him. When Varric tossed a comment his direction, some kind of a gentle ribbing, he laughed.

_Losing?_ Somehow, it didn’t surprise her. _It’s like him to do such a thing._ She shook her head. _No, I can’t know that._ Except, she did. The dream hadn’t left her yet. _Is this world even real?_ Eirwen wanted to shake her head. _Perhaps, I never left? This is still the Fade?_ No voice answered her. The awareness of the other self… ceased. She stretched out her mind for the stitching, the faded pieces, the thrum of energy she had felt while dreaming. _No, I’m in control._ She swallowed. _If I am, then why do I still feel like I’m still sleeping?_

Eirwen walked to the game.

“Inquistor!” Varric called.

“Aneth ara, my friends,” she said.

“Sleep well, boss?” Iron Bull asked with a wink.

Varric grinned, shuffling the deck. His brows rose suggestively. “Chuckles let you up already?”

“Yes.” Her cheeks burned, a red flush she was sure raced all the way up into her hairline. “Well enough.” _A reaction which only confirms their suspicions about everything that didn’t happen._

Both her companions laughed.

“If Solas is still down, you must have,” Iron Bull added.

“Something like that,” Eirwen replied. Leaning down, she lay a hand on Harel’s shoulder. Beneath her fingers, she felt his relaxed shoulder stiffen. “Might I steal this one?” The question was a formality only. “I have some questions about tomorrow’s trip.”

“Sure, Herald.” Harel swung his legs down off the table. “Not a problem.”

“Personally, boss,” Bull replied. He flipped another copper on the pile. “I think you should stay, have a drink, and lose some coin.”

“Sure,” Varric said. “Bird Boy here’s already lost a week’s pay.”

“A month’s,” Harel laughed. His voice slurred slightly and he lifted a bottle to his lips. An indeterminable brown liquid slugged from the glass, slipping between his lips. “But I’m good for it! Got lotsa back pay comin’!”

“Best get him out before he sinks too deep.”

“Elf’s doin’ fine!” Bull laughed. He glanced at her, and she noted the serious glint in his eye. “And there’s nothing that can’t wait for tomorrow.”

_He knows something is up._ Her eyes flicked to Varric. Her friend wore a similar expression, friendly on first glance but tight at the edges. They were both on guard. _They don’t want me going off alone._ She almost laughed. _Especially not after the stunt I pulled this morning._ Any other time, she’d probably agree. _But this isn’t normal Inquisition business._ “I’ll take it under advisement. Right now,” she tapped Harel’s shoulder. “You’re with me.”

“Always do what a lady says, hey?” Harel laughed. Then, he stood. Straightening, he wheeled about and offered her a very sloppy, drunken bow. “By your leave, Inquisitior.”

_All for show._ “I’ll see the rest of you later,” Eirwen said.

Spinning heel, she started for the woods and felt Harel fall in behind her. _They could follow._ She kept her back straight. Then, she heard shuffling. The cards. She nearly closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. _They won’t._

It didn’t take long to reach the camp’s edge. A few more steps and they were in the woods. A few more, then a few more after that, then they were in a clearing. A small one, not much different from the clearing in her dream. Sweat slipped down her chin and her heart pounded against her ribs.

The images flashed before her eyes.

_He caught her and pulled her to him, crushing her against his body. Arms equally as desperate held her tight. Warm lips swept through her hair… Pressing kisses to her lips, her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, every inch of skin, a suffocating man inhaling his first breath of oxygen. Feather light, those cracked lips passed over her eyelids, her temple, down her neck…_

_Her fingers tangled up in his thick, coarse black hair…_

Eirwen turned. With one hand, she seized the back of Harel’s head and dragged him down. Pressing a kiss to stiff, surprised lips, she waited. When those lips failed to move, she let him go.

“Ir abelas, Harel,” she said.

Harsh black eyes fixed on her and all pretense of drunkenness vanished. “You’ve been dreaming,” he said. A statement, not a question.

Slowly, she nodded. “I needed to be sure.”

Harel chuckled, a dry scraping sound echoing up out of his chest. “It’s perfectly understandable,” he replied. “Even natural. After what you must have experienced; it would be easy for you to become confused.”

“I’m not Catriel,” she said. It felt stupid to believe she might have been.

“No.” He paused. “You’re not.”

He stood there in the moonlight, silver light shining off his black hair. Arms hung loose at his sides. The blues and grays of his uniform rippling when he moved. Stern, far away, but still as easy now as he’d been when she met him a top the cliff. A cavernous distance hung between them beneath the overhanging branches. For all, he looked like her. For all they shared the same vallaslin, they were not alike at all.

Then, he grinned, age and time evaporating in light of friendly charm. He leaned forward, running his thumb along his sharp chin. “That’s not to say I don’t want to kiss you. After all, you are a very beautiful woman. Intelligent, engaging, brave, stunning in how you try to fly—”

Eirwen knocked his chest with a fist. “Shut it.”

“Besides,” Harel continued. “You’re in love with your adorable apostate.” He reached out, extending his hand. “An adorable apostate who would certainly take my head for laying a single finger on you.”

His fingertip tapped her nose.

It tingled. She lifted an eyebrow, scrubbing her palm on her pants. Her nose wrinkled and she shoved his wrist away. _Probably not,_ she thought. There was certainly his reaction to Wisdom’s death, but that was death. A friend transformed, corrupted, and polluted into something they were never meant to be. His anger had been understandable, as natural as her own confusion about Harel. The way he’d destroyed them… _He doesn’t have many friends. Even in the Inquisition, Cole is probably his closest companion. I’m not a spirit. I don’t know what would happen if I…_ She almost closed her eyes. _He’d go on. Just like he did with Wisdom._ Sometimes, he seemed desperate for her to walk away. _Wants me to. Like it’d be easier if I did._

“I doubt it,” Eirwen said.

“You underestimate your own importance, Inquisitor. He would. He may not realize it yet, but indeed he would,” Harel replied. “He’s always been a bit slow on the feelings front.”

“You say that like you know him,” Eirwen said.

“I do.” Harel glanced down at her. Those impenetrable eyes fixed on hers, a lazy smirk twitching on his mouth. “As well as I know anyone.”

Eirwen’s eyes narrowed. She scrubbed her mouth with her knuckles. _He’s lying, but he’s not lying._ If Harel had come from the time of Arlathan and his vallaslin also, then… Solas… _Bare faced. Ancient._ The surprise wasn’t one, not really. With even what little she knew, well, it certainly fit. “He’s like you.”

“Surprised?”

“No.”

Harel laughed. “The disguise is rather thin,” he admitted. A shrug followed, that odd birdlike one where his shoulders rose separate from his neck and back. His smile jerked up the right corner of his mouth, his arms crossed. His head tilted.

_Like he’s laughing at a silent joke._

“And you are both inquisitive and observant. Why shouldn’t you notice?”

_More useless flattery._ She sighed. Crossing her arms in response, she let her eyes drift toward the moon overhead. It shone, clear and bright, through the canopy. Her mouth pulled sideways. “What I dreamed, did you do it? I’ve never experienced magic like that before.” _Except with Solas, but he was the one steering the aravel._

“No,” he said. “I’d hardly need to. That was you. Everything you are experiencing, it’s all been you.” He spread his hands. “You’re stronger than a Dreamer. You are waking, da’mi, in the truest sense. In mind, in spirit, the Fade is no longer a place you manipulate with your sleeping mind. A place you may touch and draw from, but keep separate from yourself. It is within you now, the open doorway.” He grinned. “You are in the throes of your first waking breaths. Enjoy them. Should you survive, it will only grow stronger.”

_That sounds insane._ Her eyes dropped to her right hand, to the smooth scar laced her palm. Green energy flared through the cracks, casting ghoulishly colored light across the grass and throwing away the moonlit shadows. It lingered in her eyes, rippling through the air. “Am I asleep?” she whispered. “Or awake?”

“Does it matter?” Harel asked. “It changes you even now. It has gone beyond whatever Corypheus’ magic initially intended, what even the original owner of that orb believed to be possible.”

She closed her fist and swallowed. Her knuckles brushed her brow. “My dream, it was real. A memory.”

“Catriel’s, I assume.”

“Her name wasn’t Catriel,” Eirwen snapped. “That was the one you tried to—”

“Ah.” Harel’s eyes fell. “Yes.”

Eirwen crossed her arms. “Why did you do it?”

“Elgar’nan ordered the deaths of all surviving Uthunuan slaves after a number of his priests were murdered while they slept within the safety of In Uthenera,” Harel said. “Their dreaming minds severed entirely from the Beyond. A heavy blow, for even in sleep their power fed Elgar’nan’s magnificence. Through the act, the gods discovered the modifications June made to the vallaslin that should have rendered such acts incapable were faulty. Another uprising seemed inevitable.”

“And you believed she couldn’t hide?” Eirwen asked.

“By the time the realization came there were nearly a hundred thousand of my people within the Arlathan slave population, and these had proved themselves capable of striking at the heart of the gods themselves. Such dangerous creatures were better off destroyed.” Harel glanced away. “So, the order came down. All male, female, and child slaves taken from the Dawn Lands were to be put to the sword.”

Eirwen swallowed. “All of them? They _all_ …”

“No.” Harel laughed. “Genocide is never so simple, da’mi. To do the same today, it would be similar to wiping out the population of Fereldan or Orlais.” He sighed. “Most were killed. Those with clear records of purchase and sale, those they could find, those who had not succumbed to their new world. Those who had, who gave in to their despair and allowed this mortal world to bind them down, they could not be discovered by June’s tests for they were no different from any other Arlathan slave.

“And there were those whose masters protected them, there were children and babes kept safe as their mothers were slain. Those who had waited only to aid their brothers and sisters, they stole the ones they could and fled into the Beyond.”

His eyes rose, their black depths murky in the night’s darkness. “The blood of the Uthunuan lives on. It runs in your veins.”

“It does?” Eirwen asked. She blinked. “Is that why I can…” she swallowed. “Dream?”

“No,” he said. “Our gifts were based in understanding, not blood or inherited talent. Any could learn them, even your shemlen, even the durgen’len if he wished.” His head tilted. “I did not mean to indicate some special kinship due to similar ancestry. Nearly a third of the elven population of Thedas possess Uthunuan blood. Those who do not die out within a few generations, their bloodlines continue to propagate. They simply mixed with those of Arlathan.”

“And you’re still here,” Eirwen said. “Did he… did Dirthamen protect you or…”

“Dirthamen and Falon’din…” Harel’s gaze held her, stiff and hard, “…forced me to accept their world, this world. I…” his fingertips brushed across his vallaslin. He shook his head. "Dirthamen cannot be denied."

“You were a slave,” Eirwen murmured.

“Of a sort,” Harel replied. “I am bound in Dirthamen’s service. Unless a miracle occurs, I will serve him for all my days.”

Her eyes dropped to the grass. “Ir abelas, Harel.”

She heard him snort. “While I appreciate the sentiment, Lethallan, it is unnecessary. I am no longer the man I once was. This new self of mine has few regrets.”

“Catriel is one,” she said.

“Yes.” He paused. “My people were in possession of a special knowledge, I was ordered by Dirthamen to mark those survivors. Collect them. I hoped… I wanted to spare Catriel that fate.”

“She wouldn’t accept it.”

“No,” Harel said.

Eirwen closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. _The orb in my dream…_ Was that connected? Could it do that? _She told me to stay away._ But, the woman who was not Catriel, she’d been aware. Aware, but unaware, alive but not. She wasn’t just a dream or a fractured memory. _She was a real person and she spoke to me._ Still alive, somewhere. _Where the voices are calling me._ “Why?”

“Love,” he replied. “She is one of the few parts of my past life I remember clearly.” He chuckled. “Brave, wise, strong, there are not enough adjectives in any language to describe her. The only light in my world which mattered. More than a star. She was the sun, capturing me in her orbit. She faced the darkness of this world unafraid and when it came for her, she laughed at it.”

_And you destroyed her._ Eirwen opened her eyes, her gaze lifted, settling on him. _She was terrified in the end._ _So very frightened, sad, and angry._ “She wouldn’t be less than she was.”

“You and she, you are alike in spirit,” Harel continued. “Perhaps that is why of all those imprisoned within Dirthamen’s Elgar’arla, you found her.”

“What do you want from me?” Eirwen asked.

“You walk a road no elf has in over five thousand years,” Harel replied. He turned away, staring out into the woods. “You are a hero, da’mi. You will find, when you reach your end, that there is no end.” He glanced back. Black irises captured the moonlight in their inky embrace, devouring the light that passed across them. “Only more questions. Only more battles.” A small smile twisted his mouth. “On and on, unending.”

_That doesn’t answer the question though,_ Eirwen thought. “You want me to fight forever?”

“Want?” Harel laughed. “No. Soon,” he said. “You will realize that you are already there.”

“I guess whatever you’re going to ask me to do,” she murmured, “will kill my chance at a happy ending.”

“In this, our faded world, there are no happy endings.” Harel shrugged. “Not for the likes of us.”

Eirwen lifted her eyes to the moon overhead. Then, she closed them and felt the song wind through the trees. _That's a depressing thought._ Her lips twitched. Worse, she wanted to laugh, he was more than likely right. Her hand tightened. She inhaled a deep breath. Then, she glanced at him. A smile curved her lips, widening into a lopsided grin, and she lifted her chin.

"Well," Eirwen said. "We'll see."

Harel answered hers with a smile, strangely warm in the cold darkness of his eyes. "Indeed," he agreed. "We will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof! This was a long chapter, nobody would stop talking and Harel decided to blow all the secrets... all of them. None are safe. So, I hope it was at least interesting!
> 
> Thanks to everyone whose left comments on this story both here and on my Tumblr. They really do mean a lot to me! And definitely encourage me to write faster!


	12. With Only A Candle To Guide Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is smarter than he seems and Andruil is smarter than she seems, while Eirwen debates the merits of honesty.

Solas studied Andruil closely, his eyes narrowed. He did not dare underestimate her. _Yet, if what she says is true…_ he could not afford to ignore it or her. Across the courtyard, those dark eyes glinted as she ran a long index finger down the length of her golden bow. _She knows it as well, damn her._

He could not help her either. More, he did not wish to. Much as he might require her knowledge, much as he might need her aid, he took more pleasure in denying her. There were no bargains to be made with monsters.

“In truth, Andruil,” Solas said. “I haven’t the faintest clue how it was I came to be here. More, I do not know how to escape.” He smiled. “I fear we are trapped together.”

Her brows rose.

The Fade itself was distant in this prison, distantly outside the confines of Andruil’s mind, but he could touch the barest hint of its tendrils. The tiniest flow of magic. The spell would not be large, not enough to knock him free. _But a locator spell, perhaps._ Eirwen was still loose. He would need to escape Andruil to find her. _I shall do so._ Were he brave enough, he might have risked Andruil’s aid. _I cannot._ Her time searching the Void had once left her dangerously unstable, even if were not so obvious now. She could not be trusted, nor could she be predicted.

“You are not lying,” she murmured. Those eyes fixed on him, auburn braids sweeping across her shoulder. Her ruby lips pursed, her expression thoughtful. “How surprising.”

He tucked his hands behind his back, let the magic tremble on his fingertips. Such a tiny flow, Andruil would not sense it. “I cannot assist you,” he said.

Her lips curled back, teeth bared. “The girl.”

His heart caught in his chest. “She cannot aid you either!” he snapped. “She is naught but a child, Andruil! As you yourself have said!”

“She is not here.” Andruil’s head swung away, her chin lifting and she sniffed the air. “And… her voice, it does not echo within the chorus.”

He paused, as yet he still heard nothing. Andruil spoke of the voices, tilted her head on occasion as if she were listening to them. He might have chalked it up to her own madness, had Eirwen not told him the same. “How can you possibly…”

“I have counted them, vhenan,” she said, absently. “This trap has given me time enough to learn the pain contained in each rather intimately.” Her voice grew soft, contemplative. “She has woken.”

Solas stiffened. _No!_

“She is gone.” A laugh escaped those blood red lips. “She abandoned you!” It filled the air, raucous and harsh. “The great Fen’harel tricked! Trapped by a child!” Wide came the smile. “What a fine gift you have brought me, vhenan.”

“You knew all along where she was, did you not?” His voice hardened. “You knew.”

“As you are growing slow in your dotage, beloved.” Andruil’s shook her head, beads tinkling together in crystal chimes at the base of her braids. “I believe I said that I had indeed explored every aspect of this nightmare prison, Fen’harel.” Her eyes narrowed. “I am a huntress. Little escapes me.” She tapped her lips. “Who is this little cub that wanders in my den, I wonder?”

“She is no one,” Solas replied firmly.

“Yet, Dirthamen’s trap did not take her.” Andruil’s smile widened. “Indeed, I see now the secret you thought to cover with my jealousy. Very clever, beloved.” Her hand drifted down the bow. “It is not your mind which holds the path to the waking world.”

Solas felt his heart stop.

“It is hers.”

He watched those long fingers tighten on the arrow. “Andruil,” he said. Magic, his magic, burned on his fingertips. _Not enough._ He knew it. _Not nearly enough._ “She is no one.”

That smile widened. “So,” Andruil murmured. “You have laid hand upon a powerful plaything. No wonder you did not wish me to kill her.” She nodded. “You once taught me that a useful piece is not to be wasted on petty amusements. Never fear. I shall not do so.”

“She will not return,” Solas snapped. “You shall discover she is well beyond your reach.”

“Oh, dearest vhenan,” Andruil smirked. “If she loves you, as she must, as so many of your toys have, then she will find a way. She will return.” Her eyes dropped to the slave at her feet. “After all, what use are these disciples of ours if they do not sacrifice themselves so their betters might continue on?”

Solas bit back a retort. Eirwen was no disciple of his, a student perhaps. An eager mind willing to learn. Not a slave held with mind twisted into love and devotion. No scrambling sycophant eager to bend knee for the prospect of power. He once had wondered if she were a sacrificial pawn, and he could not claim he never saw her as such. However, it had been in the beginning. Now, though his plans had not changed, his feeling complicated the matter. She was important. He had no wish to be forced into a situation where choosing between her life and his goals became necessary. That day would undoubtedly come, but it was not this one.

“I remember,” he replied. “You did so often.”

“Oh, come now,” Andruil laughed. “I only plan to carve a path through her mind, an escape for us both. She will still be useable, should you wish to indulge in the aftermath.”

A chill swept him, as if a full bucket of cold water were dumped across his head and shoulders. Disgust knotted his stomach. He swallowed. _I can expect nothing less from Andruil._ He needed make his escape. Find his own way back. So long as he did, Eirwen would not feel the need to return in search of him. _She will not do so. She cannot. Once Harel understands, he will not let her._ Not unless he truly did intend for her soul to be devoured in this mad nightmare.

“The only remaining question,” Andruil said, “is how I shall amuse myself in the meantime.”

Solas stepped back. “Andruil!”

“You remember, do you not, beloved,” she said. “My special talent.” Kicking the slave over, she drove her hand into the boy’s chest. “That which I gifted to all those who followed me.” Yanking his heart free, she lifted it to her lips. “Yours,” she continued, “will be mine. One way or another.”

“Andruil…”

Those moon silver eyes swung up to him, her tongue trailing up the heart’s edge. Blood wet her lips. She took a bite, chewed slowly, and swallowed. “Do not fear. I can be sporting.”

A hand waved, red claws flashing in the midday light.

Then, he was shrinking. His body contorting. A scream died on his mouth, it became a wail. A howl. His voice echoing through a muzzle, his fingers pressed to the ground as paws, nails became claws. He felt a tail waving in the air. Nose catching new, strange scents in the dreamscape.

Solas growled.

“Now, now, beloved,” Andruil said. “You do not have the time. I might have changed you into any creature, Dread Wolf. An owl or a bear, perhaps a halla, even a raven. If you are a wolf, then it is your fault. Your mind still clings to this shape.”

He backed away, head lowered, ears pressed flat against his skull. Lips pulled back to expose wicked teeth. Tail tucked. _If I am in this shape at all…_ the words slipped through his mind. _She has won._ In her dream, her will dominated his own. He pushed past her once, but he was a man standing in the ocean. Eventually, the crashing waves would drag him down. He could not escape. _Not unless I discover an exit._ He would have to locate Eirwen or the path she took. _If she is still alive._

No, he almost shook his head. She was. She had to be.

“I would run, sa’lath.” Andruil tossed the heart over her shoulder. It hit the golden stone and left a long, wet red trail as it rolled away. “Else this game of ours shall be very short indeed.”

Wheeling, Solas raced into the forest with great leaping bounds.

Perhaps, perhaps she would return. If she did, then he would find her.

And together, they’d find their way home.

 

***

 

Eirwen picked her way out of the woods with Harel at her heels. Loud, jaunty steps, done entirely for her benefit, sent shivers up her spine. The closeness of his back, the swinging of his hands, the slightly drunken swagger, the noise of his voice as he chattered away. The closer they drew to camp, the louder his voice grew. A return to his cover identity, the Inquisition scout persona he’d worn at their first meeting.

She found his presence strangely comfortable, felt sympathy for his plight, and that in itself left her nervous. Unnerved. He told her the truth, promised her that this story of theirs had no happy endings. All roads ended in fire, bloodshed, and misery. _I can’t exactly doubt his honesty._ It was not the whole truth, but it was certainly close enough. _What does he want from me?_

She’d said she would not take the others with her, yet she could not trust him enough to go alone. _Cole, perhaps._ Iron Bull hated anything to do with demons. He would be on guard for tricks. Varric maybe. And… _Solas._ He had lied to her. He was ancient, an ancient. Ancient like Harel and Catriel, born in the time of Arlathan. Her fingers brushed her cheek. He did not wear the vallaslin. He was not a slave, but a free elf. _Does it matter?_ She wanted to say it did. It certainly explained more than a few of his discrepancies. Ones she’d never quite been able to accept as just pointedly accurate knowledge gifted by spirits of the Fade.

Either way, she needed to speak to him.

_Do I tell him?_

“It’s natural to be suspicious, Inquisitor,” Harel said, his voice pitched high. “The night is dark and often filled with terror.”

Her heart rattled in her chest. The campfires were bright ahead of her. A decision would need to be made and soon. _He lied to me._ If he had, his reasons were understandable. The truth would hardly have gone over well. _I can’t say I haven’t lied, haven’t hidden things from him._ Perhaps nothing so big, but her own secrets were important to her. She’d never expected total honesty. Perhaps, he had good reasons to hide the truth about himself. _He’s ancient._ Yet, so was Harel. _Neither are trustworthy._

Still, it was not as if she’d never had suspicions. The slight hitch in his voice when he explained where information came from, the hidden pauses when he considered his words. The way he said, _the Fade_. As if it were the source of all knowledge, of hard facts rather than subjective interpretation. He even admitted it regularly, but still fell back upon it when it was convenient. _There’s “I saw this in a dream” and “I know more than I’m saying” or “I’m lying about where this comes from”._ He wanted it that way and valued his privacy, so she did not press him. Whatever his history or his lies, his actions proved she could trust him.

Solas wanted to stop the Breach. She wanted the same.

She could hardly trust Harel’s intentions, even as he gave her honest answers.

_I’d rather have Solas’ lies._

At least, she might. It depended on what happened if she requested the truth.

_He’s as unlikely as Harel to give me straight answers._

And there was the question of whether or not she should tell him at all.

No, Eirwen closed her eyes, she needed to.

_If I don’t, then whatever this is between us will become a lie._ She swallowed, mouth dry. _A comfortable lie, maybe, but still a lie. Still dishonest. I could never trust him._

More importantly, perhaps, she could never trust herself.

_It’s too selfish._

If she denied him the truth because the lie between them was more comfortable, it would never be real. Once their relationship descended into usury, manipulation, and management, then there would be no going back. He’d become her home. If she lied to him now, she might as well take a torch and set fire to it. Say she preferred the lie to the man.

_There’s a difference between waiting and lying. A difference between respecting boundaries and actively assisting. Just because he is dishonest, it doesn’t mean I should be._ She had enough of that on a regularly basis anyway.

Slowly, Eirwen stepped into the clearing and the campsite. Her eyes on the three followers still sitting round their makeshift card table.

“Hey boss!” Bull’s bellow carried through the trees.

“Have a nice chat?” Varric asked. His head tilted, lips quirked into a grin.

Cole tucked against Varric’s side. The tip of his hat hanging, hiding his face between flickering shadows cast by the firelight. “Very nice,” he said. “Very flat. Your head is full, but your heart is round again.”

“Thank you,” Eirwen smiled. “And I think so.” She tucked her hands behind her back, eyes flicking around the site. “Have any of you seen Solas?”

“Nope,” Bull replied. “You knocked him out good.”

“The dreamers still hold him,” Cole said. “Dark. Daring. Dominant. She chases him across the bloody grass. The air full of howls, singing a song of lost and forgotten memories. Tongue sweeps across her upper lip. Testament of love, a hunt for his heart. She doesn’t wish to win.”

Eirwen felt her heart shudder. She wheeled, running for the tent.

“Boss!”

_So, stupid._ The ties came undone easily in her hands and she thrust the flap open. _So caught up in myself._ She ducked inside. _We fell asleep together._ What if she hadn’t been pulled in alone?

Solas lay on the cot, in the same position where she’d left him.

Yet, when she’d left his expression had been smooth, peaceful. Now, a frown contorted his brow. Mouth pulled tight into a grimace. One leg kicked slightly, like he was running.

“Inquisitor?” Harel’s voice.

She hurried forward.

“Did he go in with you?”

Taking a seat on the cot, she reached out and lay her hand across the dome of his head. His skin was cold beneath her fingers. “I don’t know,” she replied.

“Go where?” Varric’s voice filled the tent as he stumbled inside after Harel. “Where did you go?”

Her breathing quickened. _Solas._ He was a dreamer. He couldn’t be stuck. Heart hammering her ribcage, she leaned forward, her hand shifting down to his throat to find his artery. Her teeth sank into her lower lip.

His heart beat just as quickly.

“My dreams,” Eirwen said slowly. “My nightmares, they took me somewhere.” Her head swung, mouth dry, she stared up at Harel. “Is it possible?”

“He is a strong dreamer,” Harel replied. “If surprised, he might have found himself caught in your current.”

“Wandering. Waiting. He finds warmth in comfortable arms,” Cole said. “Slipping, sliding under the surface, caught in gentle lulls of thought, he protects her from harmful dreams.”

“Or that,” Varric nodded.

“Fool,” Harel hissed. “Damnable…”

Eirwen leaned forward, taking hold of Solas’ collar. “Solas,” she whispered. She hauled herself forward, one leg sliding over his body until she settled on his chest. _Panicked flailing will not help,_ she told herself. _Hold on._ Her eyes flicked to Harel. "Wake up."

The other elf moved around the cot, making room for the others. His impenetrable black eyes locked on hers.

If she spoke now, she’d blow some portion of his cover. She’d have to tell the rest of them more about her dreams than she’d ever intended. Tell them about the foci, perhaps even the whole story. Slowly, she swallowed a deep breath. “What do I do?”

“Call him back,” Harel said.

“How?” Eirwen asked.

“With your mind and your voice. With your spirit!” He leaned forward. “You sent him to that place, Inquisitor! Only you can retrieve him!”

Swiping tears from her cheeks, Eirwen frowned. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead to his and felt his gentle exhalation buzz across her mouth. “Solas,” she whispered. Their noses brushed. Her eyes squeezing shut as she gripped his chest. “Solas, please.”

“Call him!”

“Please, Solas,” Eirwen said. “Come back!”

 

***

 

_“Come home!”_

The words reverberated through him. Shook as he raced through the woods. Four paws dug into the ground, stopping every so often to scent the air. His heart pounded in his chest. He knew that voice. Eirwen’s. She was calling for him. Andruil had said she was gone. Had the other god been wrong? Had Eirwen never left at all? Or was she calling to him? Where had it come from?

_Thunk._

A golden arrow embedded in the tree beside him.

His head whipped back.

Andruil was behind him, around him, close enough. A warning shot, a taunt, to let him know she could strike him down whenever she wished.

Had she heard Eirwen’s voice? Would she hunt her now? _I cannot allow that._ He could lead Andruil away, attack her. For all her threats, there was little chance she would kill him. _Why? When she could torture me for eternity instead?_ Eirwen would have time to escape, to stop Corypheus. He knew the paths, he could find his own way back. _Somehow._ There was no need for the Inquisitor to endanger herself at this stage. _No need to risk Tranquility._

“I hear you, ma lath!” Andruil called. “I smell you.”

_“Solas!”_

Yes, it was Eirwen. She was out there, somewhere.

Solas crouched low, pushing through the bushes.

He would find her.

 

***

 

“Anyone want to explain what’s going on?” Varric asked.

“It’s no use,” Eirwen hissed. Her right hand flared and crackled, casting a ghoulish green light across the tent. “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Harel’s fingertip stretched out, planted on her forehead.

A crisp thrill of energy hummed across her skin.

It slipped across her thoughts. Soothing. Calm. Like being bathed in ice. An ache settled deep into her bones. Her eyes rolled up. Darkness caved in around her. Arms gave out.

“Relax, da’mi.” His eyes crinkled. A slight smile on his lips. “Do what comes naturally.”

She tumbled forward.

In the falling moment, the space between waking and true sleep. She saw the tendrils. They came alive shining golden lights, the beginnings of a path. Close enough to grasp, to scramble after, to follow. The soft melody of songs lost in a torrential cry of pain. Misery, anguish, guilt, deceit. An endless crushing weight bearing down across her shoulders, locked to her mind. She felt herself in their echo, within that promise of lonely melancholy and unhappy truths.

Where they were, Solas was also.

Stretching out a hand, Eirwen seized them and let them pull her onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who expected this was never getting updated? Raise your hand. It's okay. Solas and I weren't on speaking terms for a while. Also, middles are tough. I can't promise updates for this will be regular, but I will say that I intend to finish what I started.
> 
> I used the Lunars from Exalted as a base for Andruil. It seemed fitting and the fact that they can transform into any creature they eat the heart of is just badass. (This can include people, by the way.) I modified her about some. Harel's line about the night is a reference to (or directly lifted from) George R.R. Martin's GOT.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this update. All comments and kudos are appreciated. Really. They make my day.


	13. While I Lose the Struggle Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirwen meets an old "friend". Solas decides to fight back.

Eirwen stood in a field of gold. Waving heads grain shifted in a cool breeze. Overhead, a sky of sapphire blue stretched on off toward a flat, endless horizon. The ground before her rolled and spread. It was not the place she’d come to before. That had been a green forest, full of ancient trees and lush branches with a quarry to the south. In the distance, she saw blue and green crystal spearing up into the sky. Smooth, twining spires, left uneven by great, jutting jagged rocks that gleamed under a midday sun. Some far away monument or city, she guessed, its architecture unrecognizable.

_This isn’t where I’m supposed to be._

It didn’t mean that he wasn’t here.

“Solas!”

Her voice echoed in the expanse.

Eirwen stepped back. Her fingers clenching, nails bit deep into her palm. The warm light beat down upon her shoulders, uncomfortable on her skin. Yet comforting, almost familiar. She swallowed. Closing her eyes. _Harel told me to do what came naturally._ She had grabbed hold of the tendrils and followed the path. This was where it lead her. If she came here instinctively, then…

“I am afraid that one is not here,” said a voice from behind her.

Whirling, she faced a man in long black robes. His hair was also long and black, silken and shiny. It tumbled over his shoulders and hung down his back, elaborately twined in thick braids coiled together with golden pins. He was tall, like Solas, taller than. Broad. His skin an even paler white, almost ghostly. High cheekbones framed thin lips and a set of pure golden eyes. His robes opened to expose the finely cut muscles of his chest and abdomen, bound together loosely by a knotted sash. A heavy silverite chain hung about his neck, threaded in gold. At its base, a hexagonal stone lay on his chest, just above his heart, with a turquoise stone set in the center.

She had never seen an elf in such finery. Exquisite in physique, with a body cut in gentle and sloping angles, and aristocratic features. The kind of man more at home in the courts of Orlais than among the Dalish. His imperious gaze ran over her face and body, and left her feeling small, dirty.

Harel unnerved her, but he was recognizable. The memories of Catriel had provided her with some answers, albeit ones which only gave way to new questions. A bevy of new information about the past to sort through. It felt as if the world were slamming down upon her shoulders. With what Harel had said about Solas, with Solas still trapped somewhere in the dream with that woman and the man… _Andruil and Fen’harel._ She reminded herself. Elven gods. Slavers. What if this man was like them? _I was following the voices._ They should have taken her back… maybe? Shouldn’t they?

_This is too much,_ she thought. _I can’t think._ _I haven’t time to catch my breath._

“Though, little one,” he said, a mocking tone twisted his mouth. “I am pleased to see you.”

Her hand tightened. She frowned. Why was he talking to her like he knew her? Had she taken the form of someone else? Been drawn into a different memory?

Eirwen paused.

He was looking at her. She was not separate. Not trapped inside another’s life and mind. She was here, as herself. Eirwen turned her gaze back to the plain, to the crystal city. Perhaps, she had stood here among these stalks. Once, a long time before… No, she shook her head. It couldn’t be. The Dalish were nomadic. They did not farm as the humans and dwarves did.

He stroked his chin. “Has it been so long?” A smile curved those lips, still mocking. “I thought perhaps you came to this place from memory or an instinct unknown to your conscious mind.”

He stepped forward.

Cautiously, she stepped back. They required distance.

His eyes narrowed. “I see I was mistaken.”

“I don’t know you,” she said.

“No?” He lifted his chin, a black strand fell across his brow. “We come round and round again, you and I.” His hand extended, turned up, and the turquoise jewel inside his necklace winked. “It has not been so long yet.”

The strand, like a shadow on the snow and she looked past it to red, blood on sheaves of wheat. It lapped at her ankles, spreading across the dirt between the stalks. On her hands, dripping from her fingers. She felt its warmth on her cheeks, spilling down like tears. Her head ached, split. Some piece, some memory, buried in the back of her mind. Did she know him? Maybe, she did.

“With all your disruptive flailing, I felt it best we speak.” He laughed. “You are in desperate need of guidance, if not aid.”

Eirwen shook her head.

_Solas is still out there._ She had to find him. _Not this elf._

“Ir abelas, da’len,” he smiled. “I merely wish a moment of your time.”

“Ir abelas,” she replied, turning away. “I have none to give.”

“Do you have no questions of where you are?” He chuckled. “Has your curiosity eluded you?”

She stopped. Her eyes narrowed. Yes, she was curious, curious about Dirthamen’s artifact, curious about her dreams, curious about the warnings, curious about those gods she saw, curious about the past and the slavery, she was still curious to know the truth behind Arlathan’s empire. _Not curious enough to sacrifice Solas’ life for the answers._ “No,” she said, “but I’m certain the answers aren’t worth the cost.”

He smiled and took another step forward.

Again, she retreated.

“This is the prison in which Fen’harel sealed away the elven gods,” he said. “You need not fear me, da’len. You are safe here. I’ll not allow you to come to harm.”

_This is the prison?_ It made no sense. Those legends couldn’t be real. They were just stories, stories which taught them to live. Stories which taught them their history. As Solas had said, there were no gods. Except… there were. She had seen it. Drawn by the voices in Dirthamen’s Elgar’arla. Why had they led her here, to a place in the Fade where the elven gods had been shut away? The memories of Arlathan, Harel had made it clear Dirthamen was real. He served him. She’d seen Fen’harel and Andruil. Yet, it still made no sense. How could they be? The slavery, her ancestors as bad as Tevinter. The conquering of the Uthunuan, the genocide of the Uthunuan; that had been… Elgar’nan. No. _He is another of the Creators._ Shouldn’t she be able to recognize him? Familiarity in his manner, in the way he treated her, it did feel… well, like something. She swallowed. _It doesn’t matter._ “Harm is what I came for.”

He smiled. “You’ve not changed.”

Eirwen frowned.

His eyes slid away from her, warm pools of liquid gold. “The face perhaps, and the vallaslin, but you were always Dirthamen’s creature as much as mine, were you not?” His voice twisted, dropped when he spoke the other Creator’s name. “Still, through it all the core remains, even in a fallen world.” His hands crossed before him, flat upon his stomach. “It is a comfort.” His smile grew fond and he looked out across the field. “Even this place, you drew us both here in your seeking.” His lips twitched. “As it should be, this is yours more than it is mine.”

She followed his gaze. “You’re mistaken,” she replied. “I’ve never been here before.”

He laughed, the sound of chimes ringing, bells tolling across a valley so very much like this one. “No?”

Their gazes met again. “No.”

He raised a hand. “Listen.”

Her mouth tightened. “I don’t—”

It came in from a distance, almost an echo, from deep within her, the clamor of battle, the sound of metal ringing on metal, the yells of voices, screams in a dialect of her language she barely understood. Acrid burning grass, the crackle of magic shivering over her skin, blasts of fire and ice. She nearly jumped sideways to escape a sputtering gout of flame. Copper tasted in her mouth, split from a cut on her lower lip. Her cheek stung, swelled. Arms heavy, fingers trembling with exhaustion around the blades clenched in her hands.

Across the field, she saw bodies. Men and women battled, grappled all around her. Some dressed in no more than rags, wielding whatever they’d managed to grab. Pitchforks, short knives, a meat cleaver, some raced forward with their skin clear of vallaslin and others were not so lucky. Some blasted with magic of their own, but many fell to more disciplined attacks from the ranks of armored warriors. The soldiers cleaved through them as they came, silver and gold blades flashing in the sun.

A man, barely more than a boy, lunged through the wheat. Falon’din’s vallaslin inscribed upon his skin in smooth, blue lines. Raw screams, nearly feral, ripped from his throat. He swung his stolen, blunted axe high and leaped.

Her arm lifted, hand waved.

The boy’s vallaslin shone.

His body locked, arms shifting, wriggling, and shook. The axe slipped through his fingers, his knees hit blood soaked dirt. He toppled, arm cracking as he hit, and lay there, writhing on the ground.

Lifting one foot, Eirwen brought her heel down. It connected with his throat in a hard crunch, and she ground him down into the mud. Left him gagging, his windpipe crushed. Her eyes found his green ones, wide and terrified. Neither proud nor defiant, these were a frightened child’s.

Eirwen stumbled, hitting another warm body and she was knocked free.

“You do not remember yourself.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “Yet, you would challenge Andruil in her hunting grounds.”

How had he gotten behind her? Eirwen gritted her teeth. _I still have to get to Solas._ She could worry about this, whether it was a lie or truth later. _When I have the luxury._ It had been easier with Catriel, then she could be indignant. “I will do what I must,” she answered. “So, stop wasting my time.”

He laughed. “I’ve no wish to see you die again, little one,” he said. “Nor would I have Andruil escape.” His mouth drifted close to her ear. “Not yet.”

A shiver jittered her spine.

_Harel said do what comes naturally._ Her jaw clenched. _He’s a Creator. Creators!_ How could she escape? Unless he let her go, she might be stuck here. _I woke up before._ But waking was different, wasn’t it? Different from traveling to different places. _Solas._ Either way, she had to reach him. “You cannot keep me here.”

“I’ve no such intention,” he replied, mildly. “I do enjoy allowing you a facsimile of freedom and I am not heartless, even if doing so risks your value to me.” She felt his smile barely a breath’s length from her skin. “Or denies me the pleasure of your company.”

“I don’t know you,” she repeated.

“You did once,” he said. “In time, you will again.”

She swallowed. _What if I don’t want to?_ This man did remind her of all the frilly Orlesian nobles who came through Skyhold. The ones she was forced to eat dinner with. The ones she placated with warm smiles, soothing gestures, and occasionally gentle reminders that yes, the ignorant savage did understand all the words they were saying. This being, man or not, elf or not, Creator or not, would do what he would regardless. _I can’t stop him,_ her teeth ground. _Can I?_ Could she? No.

She had two choices, acceptance or fight.

To fight would mean death.

_Solas still needs me._

His fingertips brushed across her brow and she felt the turquoise stone blaze against her back.

The image shifted.

No longer a field, they were standing in a bedchamber. Smooth floors of green marble, large and extravagant, with long strands of purple silk fluttering from the banisters of a large round bed. The walls were smoothed, curved, and made from a slick glittering substance she could not identify. An array of tall shelves stretched up to the domed ceiling, each held a number of scrolls. Masses of bound volumes stood on other bookshelves, near an alcove on the far side of the room next to a large desk made of smoothed black wood. It had been shaped, not carved like the shemlen desk she used in Skyhold. This one had the same curved lines as the bows and weapons made by Clan Lavellan’s own craftmaster. Someone had inlaid this one with jewels, amethysts and sapphires, and inscribed the long, swirling carvings in silver. She’d never seen its like.

She could see words written on the books, titles and a system of numbering. Their script scrawled down each spine in elvish, ancient elvish. She could translate a few words, but no more. A treasure in knowledge waited on those shelves.

Her gaze shifted, moved away to a small room next to the study. A hexagonal room with a floor of flat, polished, gray stones. Wood paneled these walls instead of the slick substance or crystal in the main room, and they stood utterly straight. They did not bend or curve. They had no carvings or decoration, and were plain in their simplicity. A pallet leaned against one wall. A simple wooden rack filled with a variety of weapons on the other. Swords, spears, long curved blades like the kind she’d once given Cole. Short swords, longswords, even a shield or three. There also, a balcony. On it a collection of small plants, flowers and miniature trees.

Eirwen watched the ghostly figure of a woman moving about the room. Her hands out before her, one palm stretched and flat, the other in a fist close to her chest. Steps light and quick, feet shifting from one stance to the next, she released slow and steady breaths. She’d spent hundreds upon hundreds hours in that room, in mechanical practice, drawing deep within herself. Rotating round and round, round and round, and round and round. An unending circle, a cycle of repetition and focus, channeling her energies into the inner mysteries. One hand ducked behind, one hand lifted up. Fast and explosive, she struck out with both fists, then rolled back until her hands tensed against her waist and her left heel brushed her right ankle. She turned again, hands sweeping up, rotating out as she dodged away from an invisible enemy. Body shifting from hard jerking thrusts into smooth, softer techniques.

Round and round, she went. Round and round.

Her foot struck out, followed by fist, into a swirl and duck, into a stretch, a leap, the flash of hands, the flourish of a blade. A thousand strikes, a hundred cuts, a millennia of kicks.

Round and round, round and round, and round again.

Many faces. Many names. Ever changing.

This room her only constant.

And this man…

“Do you remember this place?” his voice echoed in her ears, a deep rumble.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His hands slid down her shoulders, drifting over her arms. His chest warmed her back, a position they’d stood in so many times before. Always, in the beginning, when he lead her here. When he reminded her of all that came before. Of who she was, of where she would go, and of those she would serve.

“It’s yours,” Eirwen said.

“No,” he replied, gently cradling her waist. “It’s yours.”

Eirwen hissed. “No.”

“Is that so, Sarina?”

“That isn’t my name,” she said.

“Melana.”

“Enough.”

“Caerina.”

Eirwen struggled, but he held her fast. “Don’t…”

“Aliya.”

“Please,” she ground out. “I don’t want—”

“Ataliya, Coimhe, Elva, Elenwen,” he continued, heedlessly and mercilessly. Each word struck her and each was a blow, stabbing deep into her walls, and knocking more free. His hands drew her in, ever closer to him.

It hurt, those names, hurt like tearing away an infected scab. Cut into her, without softness, bandage, or anesthetic. And she saw the faces before her, inescapable, gold eyes, blue eyes, green, brown, in shades of orange and red, surrounded by everything from short cut locks to curling tresses.

“Iuile, Aseneth,” his mouth drifted down her ear. “Orpha, and Eirwen.”

Her cheeks burned red, heart pounding. Yes, she knew him. Just as he knew her.

“What is my name, da’vhenan?” he murmured.

“Falon’din,” she whispered. “Friend of the Dead.”

His lips pulled into a smile against her cheek. “Ma elgar, ma emma uth’lath, isalan hima na.”

“Nae,” she growled. “Nae!” She lunged forward. Free from his grip, she backed away. Her eyes narrowed. “Nae!”

He laughed.

She held up her hand. This time, she felt the thrum of energy, the anchor linked in her soul. Locking her down, locking her in, even here. Through it, she felt her body. Her mind reaching back, outside the walls of this prison and linked to her power, her magic. Maybe, she could control it. Escape.

“Ah, yes.” He studied her, his eyes cold as they focused on her hand. “That mark, a frustrating blemish, but perhaps a useful one.” He sighed. “Andruil has ever been shortsighted, focused on the momentary pleasures and pursuits. Even in her madness, she has little concept of time or spirit, or the wandering weave of fate. I will not have her damage you with clumsy scrabbling.”

Eirwen gripped her wrist and focused on the tendrils. Mind seeking the path, through the separating walls of dreams that bound them together.

He flicked a finger.

She froze.

“No other but Dirthamen spent their time understanding the movements of the Heavens as I have, the flow of the spirits from one world to the next. The loom weaves and the wheel turns, da’vhenan, and I have charted your lives by these strands.” His eyes glittered. “I am your past as I am your future. What is mine, is mine. You will not escape me, even if I must hunt your spirit across the cosmos.”

His power flowed around her, weaving threads that tethered her hands and wrapped her skin in cold ice. Not a binding or a compulsion, a kind of barrier.

“Seek Dirthamen’s foci if you must,” he continued. “It shall make little difference.”

Her eyes narrowed. Mind flickering back to the golden strands. Her way to Solas. _Andruil as well._ If she had found her magic, perhaps she could stall the Creator long enough to escape.

“None but one of us may dominate its will.”

Her jaw clenched. Fingers locking about the tendrils of energy.

“Should you be foolish enough to try, I will rip you free and start again.” His eyes narrowed. “It shall not be the first, I’ve had to reconstruct you before. I will again as necessary.”

_No time to worry over what he means by that._

“You may go,” he said. A wave of his hand set her loose. “As you will.”

She stumbled.

“We shall see each other again, sa’lath.”

Yanked the trail of energy.

“Never fear.”

And winked out.

 

 

***

 

The next arrow took Solas in the shoulder.

He lunged sideways, stumbled, and collapsed. A whine broke his muzzle, panting, he lay on the forest floor. Forced his lips into a snarl. White hot anger pounded against his mind. Power curling beneath his paws. He was so weak now. His spirit severed from even the limited power of his mortal form. He scented copper, leaking through his fur. Sharp, searing agony stabbed up his leg with each limp forward.

Andruil came on. A phantom among the trees. Disappearing in and out, taunting him with the sound of her voice, her footsteps, her smell.

And Eirwen was gone. Eirwen’s spirit. Eirwen’s scent. Even her voice had been silenced and now was nowhere to be found. He knew he must accept it as yet another trick of Andruil’s.

His paws dragged through the mud and kept on, moving into the shallows and into the cool waters of the eastern river.

_I am the Dread Wolf! I will not be hunted as common prey._

Andruil’s competence had caught him off guard, but she was not the only one with a trick or two. With Eirwen truly gone, with her truly safe, then he could fight his own way without endangering his plans. He would not tuck his tail, would not hide. The pain would only fuel his will, strengthen him. Here in the dream, will was all that mattered.

Closing his eyes, Solas inhaled a deep and slow breath. Charged energy drew in around him, pulsed through him, and manipulated his shape. The wolf’s body grew large, tripling in size as his wounds sealed from the inside out, and forced the embedded arrow free from his fur. Fur rippled black, he opened six red eyes.

He whirled, lifted a long and bloody muzzle high, and howled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And lo' a wild elven god appears. This kind of took me by surprise and it may have gone a little sideways, but I hope you still enjoyed it. I was planning on keeping this story in line with the greater Inquisition canon, but only deviating a little bit. Apparently, it's not to be. This is going truly AU. (I did say I'd leap off cliffs to escape canon though, so there is that.)
> 
> I hope at least you're all at least somewhat interested in where this is going. Somewhere fun, I think.
> 
> Some of Falon'din's powers are based on the Celestials from Exalted, particularly his ability to track and find reborn spirits. It seemed appropriate for him, even though his monniker "Friend of the Dead" may be more ironic than factual given his enjoyment of conquest, blood, and slaughter.
> 
> I borrowed phrases from FenxShiral’s fantastic Project Elvhen and the Dragon Age elven wiki.
> 
> (FenxShiral's) Isalan hima na, (I lust to become you), basically saying he’s saying, “I want to fuck you.”  
> Ma elgar - my spirit  
> Ma emma uth'lath - my eternal love. 
> 
> As always, I appreciate all comments and kudos.


	14. One Match Makes an Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirwen struggles with her memories as she and Solas reunite. Andruil promises pain and destruction.

Fen’harel ran through the trees. It was freeing. The air racing across his fur, the power flooding through him. Only a small margin of what it had once been, but more than he’d had before. The strength, the ferocity, the power in his wolf-shape, he’d almost forgotten. His fur rippled, his muscles bunching with each powerful thrust of his haunches. His paws beat against the dirt, leaving large prints in the grass. The world had come alive for him, in scents, the changing pressure of the winds, in the soft fluttering wings of imagined insects. In the thick, lush undergrowth and mighty trees that long since passed from the world of Thedas. This world, he know understood, was Andruil’s portion of the prison. Everywhere smelled of her as her spirit was within it all. Her dreaming mind supported this creation, her dreaming mind supported it and yet it was limited by hard boundaries.

She could only stretch so far to contain him.

That was what she had done. Contained him. Bound him in tiny motes of essence to blind his nose and all other senses. To keep him from seeing the fragility of this memory world. To bar him from locating the edges, the places where the weave thinned and the thread unwound like the loosening ends of a tapestry. As he traveled outside the grasp of her power and escaped entirely into another’s domain.

So long as he kept running, he would eventually set himself free.

He inhaled deeply.

Joy sang through his veins. Along with a change in his shape, his emotions also flooded through him. Unrestrained. Unbound. There was purity and contentment in the Wolf, an honesty he denied himself by tying solely to one physical form. The instincts of his other half, the burning primal urge to love and to mate. To take and to protect. To hunt through the woods, the woods of the mortal plain and sink his teeth into the warm blood of some quick moving prey.

In and out, the air came, sweeping through his lungs. He lunged across the river. Left Andruil somewhere far behind him.

Another smell caught within his sensitive nose. It came in dark reds and purples, a scent he knew all too well. A magic which brought with it only misery and death. Revenge pulsed white inside his mind. Rage greater than any he felt for an old and tormented lover.

It moved off in the woods somewhere before him.

He would hunt it down.

At last, Fen’harel knew, he had found a worthy prey to satisfy him.

 

***

 

Eirwen raced through the forest. The bushes scraped at her hands, cut her palms, ripped at her fingers. The sun beat down overhead and she heard the working songs of the mine, distantly filtering through the trees. Her feet pounded the ground. Her heart in her throat.

Had she lost too much time? Was Solas still all right? Had he been killed?

Between those insistent thoughts came other pressing concerns. Her head hammered. Images flicked through her brain, rushing out in a massive and confusing jumble. As if someone had cracked open a dam and her mind now flooded. _What did Falon’din do to me?_

 _Warm sugar slips on Elva’s tongue, some beetle shaped candy. A man’s thumb brushes over her lips as he tilts her chin. “There we are, da’mi,” he murmurs. “A favorite if I recall_.”

Eirwen blinked.

 _Aliya’s blade presses to another noble’s throat, his eyes widen in terror. “He has offended. Shall I execute him, master?_ ”

She shook her head.

 _Twin blades sheathed across her back, Iuile swings beneath a blazing sword. “Did your Falon’fen send you, brother_?” _Left arm tucks across her front, the other swings wide, distracting like his flames. One foot hooks an unsteady leg, a quick jerk. She catches the arm, driving her palm through the straightened elbow to the tune of a sickening crunch. The blade clatters to the ground. She lets him stumble away as he clenches a useless arm_. “ _Tell your god to send me better.”_

This person, these people, they weren’t her.

She stumbled.

A large black shadow leaped from the bushes, paws catching her across the shoulders and slamming her to the ground. Six burning red eyes stared into her own, lips peeled back in a snarl. It bared a set of very sharp and very white teeth. Hot breath raced over her cheeks. She smelled warm earth beneath her, her fingers digging into the dirt. Its weight bore down on her. It was massive, more than three times the size of a normal wolf.

 _Dareth shiral, da’len_ , Istimaethoriel’s voice whispered through her mind, a memory of the day she left for the Conclave at Haven, _may the Creators protect you and keep you, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent._

She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, but they wouldn’t move. Her jaw slackened. “D-d…” She couldn’t move. “W-w-w…” Her breath escaped her shallowly, painfully. “Dread…”

 _Why?_ She had seen a man called Fen’harel here, but… another figment? No. Not a…

The creature’s lips smoothed, ears switching forward, and leaned in. Reaching out its, or his, snout, he sniffed her cheek. His nose was cold, wet. A glob of saliva slid from his mouth, splashing her chin. Then, the muzzle extended. He gently took her jaw between his teeth and gave it an almost tender shake before letting go.

 _Friend?_ She wondered. Animals had their own means of communication. Their own ways of speaking. She was not as familiar with their many languages as a hunter or Halla Mother might be. Yet, she had once instructed Clan children in the language of the wolf and as a model for the strength of family, of communication, of pack. _Except for the Dread Wolf, he who hunts alone._ Her heart thudded, but slowed. Eirwen swallowed, inhaled all the air she could manage, and tried to speak. “Aneth…” she managed, “ara…” no use antagonizing it, _him,_ “falon.”

A soft whine slid from the wolf’s throat.

“Fascinating.” The voice came above them.

Eirwen’s eyes flicked up and found Andruil crouched upon a rock. Long braids hung about her cheeks, auburn hair aflame, her lips pulled into a wicked grin, and a golden bow resting on her knees.

 _Moon-silver eyes glint in the dark, one hand wraps about the trunk. “Remind Falon’din,_ ” _she says,_ “ _I do not require a nursemaid.”_

_Malana frowns, but remains silent. Her orders are the same, regardless. Protect the Creators. The Uthunuan are an unknown, dangerous. As Andruil is known, yet still dangerous. She must be watched._

“I’d hoped you would rip the girl apart in your frenzy, vhenan,” Andruil called. “Pity. It would certainly be a more merciful death.”

 _Vhenan?_ Eirwen’s eyes returned to the wolf, but he no longer studied her. What she’d seen in that courtyard had certainly indicated some close relationship between them. _Though, clearly not entirely happy._ Inhaling another shaky breath, she considered wriggling.

Slowly, the wolf’s paws lifted off Eirwen’s chest. He stepped over her, stopping just above her head.

She frowned. A strange position to be in, underneath his belly. _It’s as if he’s guarding me._ Like she were some lost puppy. Well, she sighed, it was hardly the strangest thing to happen today. Slowly, she flipped onto her stomach. _Can’t do much good belly up, I suppose._ Best to focus on the problem at hand. _Like finding Solas._ She crawled forward, peeking out from underneath the wolf’s chest.

He growled, body lowering slightly so his long, black fur and barrel of his chest brushed against her hair.

He wanted her to stay down, did he? Well, on that count, he was bound to be disappointed. “I’m looking for my…” Sweetheart? Love? Flirtatious acquaintance? Irritating mentor? “Friend.” She let her gaze return to Andruil. Legends said not to trust Fen’harel, if this even was Fen’harel. He was a trickster to the core, or so the legends said. Yet, she found it a bit hard to see the elaborate scheme. _This is the second time he’s put himself between me and Andruil._ The second time he’d interceded on her behalf. The second time he’d saved her. So, maybe, he wasn’t quite as bad as the legends said. _Even if he did try to eat me._ Eirwen paused. _Well, if it really is him._ She suspected so. “I don’t suppose you’d know where to look?”

The wolf snorted.

“Ma serannas,” she murmured, exhaustion crept upon her and left her tongue loose. “It is good we share these moments.” Digging her fingers into the dirt, she yanked herself forward.

This time, he growled. His great head dropped further, muzzle nudging her back beneath him.

 _I swear upon all my ancestors,_ Eirwen thought. _I am never sleeping again._

“Sickening,” Andruil called down. The golden bow flashed in her lap, lifted as she nocked another arrow. “Truly.”

“No argument here,” Eirwen murmured. She scooted across the dirt, just a little further and lifting a hand she pushed the giant muzzle aside. “I hope you have a plan,” she told the wolf. Easier not to think of him as either the Dread Wolf or Fen’harel. Her head hammered something awful, tongue heavy in her mouth. “Because I really am out of ideas.”

“That much is obvious.”

 _Solas?_ Her hand pressed against skin, not fur. On a cheek, not a muzzle, fingertips brushing the edge of his lips. His rested on the back of her neck. “Solas.” She sighed, relieved. Solas was the wolf. She swallowed, heart freezing in her chest. _Solas is the Wolf._

“Inquisitor,” his voice was stiff. “You should not be here.”

Stiff and… _Angry,_ she thought.

His hand gripped her shoulder and, with surprising strength, hauled her to her feet.

“Come,” Solas said. “This battle is not yours.”

“Whose is it then?” Eirwen asked. “Yours?”

He glanced at her and their eyes met. Pain hardened them, rage simmering beneath the surface, tightening the corners around his eyes. His mouth thinned, lips pursed, and his jaw tensed tight.

“And here I believed you would continue to hide, beloved,” Andruil called. “It seems you have discovered a modicum of backbone.” The bow raised, golden arrowhead glinting in the sun. “I shall enjoy crushing it once more.”

Gritting her teeth, Eirwen narrowed her eyes. This was one of the Creators. Andruil, the one who taught the Dalish the way the hunt, her favored creature was the owl, she’d once tried to trap Fen’harel and make him her bedslave for a year. The stories and customs flicked through her mind. Little there of any aid and less of it had truth. She hadn’t really expected them too. The comfort her knowledge once brought her had already dissipated in the wake of its transformation into useless tidbits and trivia. This was the woman who’d laughed at as a slave master beat a boy. As she had a frightened woman be whipped and hunted through the woods. _Creator or not,_ Eirwen clenched her jaw, _this is no god of mine._

Solas was halfway in front of her, his grip tight on her arm. Whatever he was planning, she couldn’t help but wonder if it involved some kind of sacrifice. His shoulders were hunched, defeated even in his rage. One hand clenched about her bicep, drawing her in close. Ready to thrust her away.

Her eyes narrowed. _I won’t let him._ She pushed past Solas, shoving herself in between him and Andruil.

_Orpha steps forward, taking her position ahead of Falon’din. One hand stretches out, horizontal, before him. Magic rolls across her skin. Her essence burning within her body. The surrounding wards gleam. She is ready to stand against the tide._

_The Dread Wolf’s eyes narrow, his own contingent spreads behind him. He grips his staff tightly. A frown mars his brow. He knows her interference will give Falon’din time. He will flee to his forces, to his stronghold in the Southern Marches while she holds here and dies._

_As is her duty to her Creator and as one of his Chosen._

_“Hamin! You need not bind yourself to one so unworthy!”_

_She draws her blades. She cannot destroy them all, cannot subvert a god of the People. He shall kill her, but she will take many of his number first. She is pleased with such knowledge, for each and every cut will wound him deeply._

_He knows the cost as well. It is in his blue-gray eyes as he pleads. “Join us, da’len.”_

_Orpha spits upon the green marble. “I am no child of yours, Betrayer.”_

_“Ar’din nuvenin na’din.” His voice fills her. Again, he speaks of how he does not wish to kill her; as if her blood has not been on his teeth many times before._

_She knows his savagery, more intimately than any follower or lover. They have done this before, and they will again._ I shall never submit. _Orpha smirks, lifts her chin. “Ar tu na’lin emma mi.” She will have his blood, one way or another._

_“Ir abelas,” Fen’harel says. Gray sky eyes grow stormy and she sees his hate, coiling beneath the surface. His pride. His rage. All ready to erupt. No kindness nor benevolence, no mercy. None for her. “I cannot save you.”_

_Orpha grins. “I do not wish you to.”_

_She rushes forward._

_It is a good way to die._

“Inquisitor!”

“It’ll be all right, Solas,” Eirwen said.

“No!” Solas shouted. His fingers sank into her arm, wrapping about it in a vice grip. He yanked her to him. “You cannot face her alone.” She feels his chest, his breath on her ear. “I will not allow it!” The nervous worry in his voice. “Vhenan!”

 _Vhenan?_ Eirwen wondered. Did he mean her? Or Andruil?

_Aliya watches Andruil shove Fen’harel to the tree. Both half-drunk upon liberated vats of summer wine. She will do as Falon’din bids, observe and report. He covers Andruil’s mouth with his, her red nails dragging down his cheeks. They leave long and bloody scrapes. Her stomach knots._

_In the distance, glimmering crystal lights dance like fireflies between the murky darkness of the trees._

“Let go, Solas.” She turned away. “Please.”

“This is so entertaining,” Andruil called. “Tell me, beloved, will you weep when I carve out her heart?”

Eirwen watched the arrow center on her chest.

Andruil laughed. “Never fear, I will take her shape and then you may see her whenever you wish.”

“Su an’banal i’ma!” Solas snapped. “You shall not have her!” His voice dropped, fell, a gentle lull in her ear and spoken with yet more conviction. “Come! She will not have you!”

“I have been,” Andruil replied. “Perhaps after we have escaped, I shall take you there next.”

“Shoot then!” Eirwen lifted her chin. Her heart pounded in her ears. “I am not afraid!”

“Ar tu na’elgar emma assan.” _I shall have your spirit on my arrow._

“Dhava ‘ma masa,” she spat. _Kiss my ass._

Andruil grinned and drew back the arrow until her fingers touched her ear. “You are quite amusing.” The arrow glittered, a glow of silver burning on the tip, until the shaft was engulfed in silver fire. “It will be a pity to carve apart your mind.”

Eirwen stiffened, her heart hammering away.

_I can’t stand against Andruil._

“Do not fear, little one, you shall burn for an eternity as I scatter your essence across the heavens.”

They had to escape.

“No!” Solas shouted.

 _There’s only one way out._ The path, but to find it at first one had to… die?

She almost shook her head. Pain. Shock. Surprise. When faced with the dry echo of an ancient nightmare, it was necessary to endure. _Halam’shivanas,_ another voice of hers whispered through her mind as she knelt before the pool, _the sweet sacrifice of duty_. In order to receive, one had to surrender. They had to…

_Let go._

“Eirwen!”

“I said let go!” Eirwen grasped him by the front, planting her hand on his chest. “We’re going home!” Her palm burned, an explosion of green light. She dragged him forward and, as she once had in their first visit to the Fade, pressed her mouth to his.

_“Tell me,” Caerina whispers against his lips. “You have tasted blood now.” All around them, the fireflies wink and dance. A summer’s gift along with blistering heat. “What did ma Ena’sal’in lethal’mi name you?”_

_“You call them my blade brothers.” His hand cups her hair, as he tilts her head back. “As if they do not chant my name in the temples.” A finger trails down her cheek, across her chin. “As if I were one of them.”_

_She nuzzles his nose. “You are now.”_

_He grumbles, as he always does. “They named me,” his eyes roll skyward, “The Dread Wolf.”_

_“For your fearsome shape?” She laughs._

_He frowns. “Why not?” Then, he smiles. “Do you not find me terrifying?”_

_“Perhaps,” she grins. She taps his chest, rattling her nail on his armor. It is properly fitted to his shape and gilded with little ceremony, but he wears it poorly. He does not spend his days or nights in a warrior’s gear by choice. He would rather be inside a library’s walls than on Elgar’nan’s warfront. “I shall give you a more suitable name.” She leans forward. “Falon’fen.”_

_“You jest.” His nose wrinkles. “For Falon’din?”_

_Caerina smiles. “No.” Her lips twitch. “You are a Friend of Wolves, as we of the Ena’sal’in are all wolves. You are of our pack.” She presses her lips to his. “Even if you put your nose in too many books, ‘ma falon’fen.”_

Andruil’s golden arrow struck her back. Falon’din’s essence glittered about her, raged across her body. Set loose an explosion in shattered blue and purple stars.

Eirwen saw the tendrils of the path forming. With all the strength in her mind, she shoved Solas forward. Let the explosion carry them through the opening crack inside her mind, out into the blacks and greens of the Fade. Her arms went about him, fingers dug into his back. His cinched her to him, held her tightly. Then, they were falling.

They fell.

And fell.

And fell.

 

 

Eirwen woke, snuggled on a warm chest. Her eyes opened and her gaze lifted, one hand wiping some drool from her chin. It pooled beneath her hand, wetting a soft shirt. She stared up into a pair of stormy-gray blue eyes, very angry eyes. Solas’ eyes.

 _No,_ she thought. _Not Solas._ There was more to him now, like more water poured into a cup until it was overflowing. All the cavities filled and glowing. Her mouth pulled into a faint smile. He had always been brilliant, if distant. Brighter than any glittering star in the heavens, only burning more fiercely as the ages passed. Beneath the careworn surface was a man who had been lover and enemy both. _It is good to see him again._

“Teldirthalelan!” he growled. “Why would you risk yourself? Do you not understand what you’ve done? Everything we’ve worked for and this world might have been lost!”

“Because,” she said, a little helplessly, and in the very same hated tone she’d heard so many foolish love-struck girls use. “I love you.”

His eyes widened.

Solas’ hands cupped her cheeks, yanking her down to meet a hard and insistent mouth. His lips moved over hers, capturing, devouring. Shifting her on his lap, he teased her tongue with his. Interchanging warm pulses with sharp nips, his teeth coursing over her lower lip. He explored her, hands sliding up into her hair, gripping her head firmly with rough fingers. One dragged against the inside of her ear.

She moaned, gasped. “S-s…”

“Close your eyes, kid,” Varric’s warm voice rumbled somewhere nearby. “This view’s for adults only.”

“Crap,” Iron Bull said. “Never knew Solas could kiss like that.”

Solas’ mouth drew back. “Indeed,” he said. “It is often quite surprising how little one knows.”

Eirwen’s heart pounded, lips parting and tingling. It took all her self-control to keep from reaching for him and dragging him back in. _I hate you!_ The voices hammered in mind. _I love you!_ Her panting echoed in her ears. _I’ve wanted you for so long! Please! Don’t!_

“Now, if you would.” His gaze did not move, did not fix upon anything but her. He held her with his eyes. Caressed her with them, stroked her, those dark gray-blue irises moving across each curve and plane of her cheeks. He made a study of her, as if she were the only one in all the world that existed. “Get out.”

“Boss?” Iron Bull’s question lingered distantly in her ears.

“Yes,” Eirwen whispered. “Please.” Her cheeks flushed. “Get out.”

There were a few laughs.

Solas pulled her back to him, heedless and uncaring. One hand slid down her back. His lips dragged across her cheek, his hot breath brushed her ear. “Lasa ar’an nira aron fen’en.”

“Vera em su tarasyl,” she breathed. Her fingers gripped his shirt, she rotated her hips against him. “Sathan, Solas, banal’var ‘ma theneras’din.”

“Ma nuven’in.” His teeth seized her earlobe.

Eirwen gasped. Her eyes shut. One arm encircled his neck, fingers dragging down his neck and into his rough shirt. Her lips moved against his ear, and shaped her words without sound. _My wolf._

He gripped her tightly and rolled her down to the cot. His weight settling over her. His eyes darkened, one finger trailing down her cheek. He undid the buckles on her shirt, parting it with a smooth gesture. Then, away went the sash about her waist. Her jacket opened, exposing warm skin to the coolness of early morning air. Lips brushed across her forehead, pushing into her hair. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

“You called me vhenan,” she whispered.

“You are,” he said softly. “My heart,” his hand drifted over her chest to press on her heart, “my home. You have become important to me, more than I ever imagined.”

Her lashes fluttered, fingers dropping down to his belt. She flicked the clasp with her thumb, slid it free. “It is the same for me, you know,” she said. Her hands ducked under his soft over shirt, tracing up the bumps of his ribcage. She felt him shiver. “I never thought I would care for anyone the way I do for you.”

His eyes softened, his lips brushing across her mouth. Warm, slow, comforting, his arm encircled her waist and he pulled her against him tightly. He kissed her. Fingers moved through her hair as her arm went around his neck, and the other slid up his back. Wrapped up in him, she felt her worries and fears melt away. Like sliding into a warm bath, he brought a sense of safety. Driving away the cavalcade of clamoring memories, shut them away, and left all jumbled emotions lingering on the edges. She found safety in the center of the storm as his presence banished the specter of Falon’din.

She hoped hers did the same for Andruil.

“Though,” she whispered as he drew back. Her head tilted against the pillow and she smiled up at him. “I’d have done what I did for anyone.”

His palm, roughened with calluses, drifted across her belly. Tracing along the line of her abdominals to the edge of her pants, he pressed his lips to her temple. Slowly, contemplatively, a sign he was thinking.

“Eirwen,” he said. “We must discuss what happened.”

She drew her finger down his cheek, laying it on his lips. “Later.”

His mouth quirked. Taking her wrist, he drew her arm forward and up, his teeth sinking to her palm. Tongue dipped into the crevice. “I am afraid,” he pressed a kiss to her fingertips, “it must be now. Before we go further and I…” He trailed off, eyes sliding over her. “I am too charged. You are to me as air is to a man drowning, vhenan.” His thumb brushed down the back of her hand and tenderly across the glittering green crack. “If we do this, I will lose myself in you.” His lips twitched. “To you.”

“Solas…”

“No,” he murmured. “Please, allow me to finish. I never thought I would find anyone like you. You are different. Unique. You are frustratingly brave and deeply wise, often well beyond any of your years. You are in possession of a wisdom I’ve not seen since…”

“Arlathan,” she said.

He softened, mouth tightening in apprehension as a nervous weariness creased the corners around his eyes. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Harel told me about you,” she said. “When I confronted him after I woke from the first dream.”

“You should not have done so.” His eyes narrowed. “He is quite dangerous to us both.”

“I know.” Her hand slipped free of his grasp, running up his cheek. “As are you.”

Solas chuckled, a rueful laugh. “That is true.”

At this distance, she recognized his face. There could be no mistaking it. The hair had changed, fallen away during what could only be a long sleep in Uthenera. His face aged by sorrow. No longer the youthful man who made a mess at Mythal’s… She closed her eyes, willing those memories to go away. “He didn’t tell me you were Fen’harel.”

Solas sighed. “He would take twisted pleasure tormenting me in such a way. Handing over half the truth, all the while dangling the rest. Freeing me in honesty, but allowing me bind myself deeper into my web as I sought to…” he trailed off.

“Safeguard your position?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Your reaction in the Fade surprised me.”

“Why?” She tilted her head, lips pursing into an amused half-smile. “Did you expect me to scream?”

“Many often do upon encountering such a shape, the reaction is natural,” Solas replied. “I have often been told my wolf-shape is quite fearsome.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” he murmured, a flush touched his cheeks. “Perhaps not recently.”

Eirwen bit back a laugh. “I suppose not,” she managed.

“You are handling this well,” he said. “Far better than I ever…” he swallowed and finished lamely, “expected.”

“I’m too exhausted to be angry or frightened.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s…” pausing, she curled a finger around the leather thong hanging from his neck, “difficult to make any sense of anything.” She snuggled a little closer. “Easy to be accepting when you’re numb.”

“Hardly comforting,” he replied. A rueful smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “However, given all you must have endured, I cannot claim it is surprising.”

“Solas,” she said.

He toyed with her hair, brushing it back with his palm. There was concern there, in his eyes, and worry. A somewhat mixed sense of relief in the way the smile curved his mouth. She could chart the stars on his brow, in the soft lines denoting age around his mouth.

With one hand, she traced his cheek with her knuckles.

She saw him now under the light of her own inner rage, frustration in some lingering sense of betrayal. More than Falon’din, it all seemed to come back to him and that illuminated less than it should have. Lying here with him didn’t feel wrong, didn’t fill her with disgust, no instinct demanded she thrust him away. Instead, she clung to him more tightly. Aware—for the first time in a very long time—that this was right. Her lips pressed together, their reunion was bittersweet. After all, any happiness between them couldn’t last.

“When I sensed Falon’din’s magic upon you, I… I am ashamed to say I lost control. I reacted on instinct.” His eyes fell across her. “Had you screamed, I might have followed them. Thankfully, you did not.” He smiled. “I did not expect such acceptance or trust, or for you to risk your life in such a way for mine.” His gaze softened, grew haunted. “Not after you learned the truth.”

“You’re one of my people now, Solas,” she said. “I’ll always protect you.”

His hand pushed back her hair. “You truly are remarkable.”

 _I must tell him._ Her mouth tensed. _And it will hurt a great deal._ She was at a loss for how to explain what happened with Falon’din. _I barely understand it._ She’d learned, more she’d _remembered_ , he was Fen’harel. The experience of any horror, nervousness, or fear from her innocence in the revelation had been stolen away. Relief filled her now, and she worried more about how he would react to her truth. That she did remember him somewhat, that they were from the same world, that they had been enemies. Worse, she found herself uneasy that he would attribute his attraction to who she had been in Arlathan, whoever that was, and not the woman whose life he’d saved at Haven. _And who is that?_

“Solas,” she said, it was still easier—and safer for them both—to call him by that name. “There’s something I have to tell you.” She breathed out another long sigh. “You aren’t going to like it.”

“You encountered Falon’din on your way to me,” Solas said. “I did sense his power upon you and it was that which allowed us both to escape, was it not?” His fingers curved her cheek, eyes peering into her worriedly. “Did he require some bargain for that power, vhenan? Did he force it upon you?”

“In the prison, Falon’din… he did something to me,” Eirwen said, best to proceed slowly. “He…” she swallowed. “Do you remember women named Orpha, Iuile, and Elva?”

He paused, his eyes narrowed. “I knew many by those names, but put them all together and I imagine you mean Falon’din’s Chosen. They held each held the position in turn throughout the ages. Each one came after another as it was…” his mouth pulled to the side, into a nasty smile, “ _vacated_.”

She winced. “You mean as they died.”

He nodded. “Yes.” His hand moved across her brow, eyes searching hers. “The Chosen were Falon’din’s most devoted servants. The rose above all the rest. Skilled warriors, perhaps, but also brutish thugs. Enforcers of his will. In their time, they were hardly better than today’s Templars. Monsters all. Put them from your mind, vhenan.”

Her fist clenched, mouth pressing into a tight line, and she slid out from under him. Given their history, his answer wasn’t surprising. Bare feet touched the floor as she did up the buckles. “We should speak to Harel.”

“Vhenan?”

Eirwen glanced over her shoulder at him. “He’ll explain it better.”

Solas frowned, studying her. “What have Falon’din’s Chosen to do with Harel?” He pushed himself up on one arm, watching her. There was worry in his eyes now. Fear. The exact fear and sense of betrayal she knew would be coming. “What have they to do with you?”

“Everything,” Eirwen said. Slowly, she drew in a deep breath and faced him. “You see, I am Falon’din’s Chosen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very fun chapter to write and it is very long, so I apologize for that. Hopefully, it kept itself moving. I thought about splitting it into two, but all of it really feels like it needs to be there.
> 
> I borrowed a bunch from FenxShiral's Project Elven and the DA wiki for this  
> Aneth ara, falon - safe place, friend (basically, "hello, my friend")  
> Vhenan - my heart  
> Ma serannas - my thanks  
> Ar’din nuvenin na’din - I don't want to kill you  
> Ar tu na’lin emma mi - I will have your blood on my blade  
> Ir abelas - I am filled with sorrow  
> Ar tu na’elgar emma assan - I shall have your spirit on my arrow. (A variation by me on I will have your blood on my blade.)  
> Su an’banal i’ma – to the void with you  
> Lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en - (let us dance as the wolves do), he's saying let's have sex.  
> Vera em su tarasyl - Take me to the sky, she's saying yes, let's have sex  
> Sathan, Solas, banal’var ‘ma theneras’din – Please, Solas, banish my nightmares  
> Ma nuven’in – as you wish  
> Ena'sal'in'amelan - Arcane Warrior, Knight Enchanter, lit. One Who protects victory. Victory keeper. Sometimes shortened to Ena'sa'melan, or incorrectly shortened to Ena'sal'in.  
> Lethal’mi – “Blade Kin” I made this one up using the wiki and FenxShiral’s work, I couldn’t find a term for “Blood Brothers” or battle brothers or battle blades. This would mean someone the warriors consider to be a kind of kin forged from battle, though not blood or clan related.  
> Dhava ‘ma masa. – Kiss my ass  
> Teldirthalelan - One who will not learn. He’s calling her an idiot.


	15. And the World Stops Spinning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank MissOwl, who leaves a comment on nearly everything I write. I truly appreciate it, especially when it comes to long fiction like this. Thank you!

Solas stared at Eirwen, his eyes narrowed. He remembered the women Falon’din had called his. Collected from amongst the provinces as babes, they were raised in his temples in isolation until the day they took orders. Very few knew, even those high priests among the defectors, knew which child would eventually receive a place at Falon’din’s side. There had never been a rhyme or reason to it. The only truth he knew was that such a woman was not long for the world.

The Elvhen, those of Arlathan, did not die of old age as the modern elves did. They could, however, fall ill and be killed. When they grew tired of the world, they would drift into in Uthenera and some never again woke. This was not an issue which ever afflicted Falon’din’s Chosen.

None of them ever enjoyed a lengthy life in the custom of other highly placed warriors or god’s champions. They had all been killed in battle, their lives led in blood and violence in the service of a God of War and Death. In the end, their deaths were all the same, every single one, from first to last. No Chosen lived to drift off into peaceful slumber. Each was a masterful warrior, an artist on the battlefield, the pinnacle to which many of the gods’ followers aspired, and their deaths taught as Falon’din did. The servants of the gods were neither undefeatable nor untouchable, perfect targets. He and his plans had been the cause of many a Chosen’s demise, especially during the rebellion.

From the way she’d slid away from him, Solas did not doubt the Inquisitor knew it too.

Eirwen studied him with those wondrous summer blue iris, orange bangs flopped across her brow. The deep scar across her right eye. Face still marred by Dirthamen’s vallaslin. One buckle on the bottom of her Warden jacket still half-undone. The sash on the floor, her head tilted slightly and a sad smile tucked into the corners of her mouth.

_I am Falon’din’s Chosen._

The words repeated through his mind. _I am,_ she’d said. I _am_. _It is not I became._ Theirs was a subjective language and, despite the generations which separated them, they both carried its patterns in their speech. How she spoke, the words she chose, they had meaning to them. He had done something to her, she said. However, her words carried an implication of what had always been. Perhaps, she meant what always would be. She named herself as Falon’din’s possession, both in past and future.

Her eyes had changed. They were older now, harder. Sadder. Her innocence gone, replaced with a battle-ready weariness he knew all too well. They were apprehensive, hollowed, and laced with exhaustion. Not so surprising, given the circumstances. The woman before him had steeled herself against whatever angry words or judgements were to come.

_Held fast in the belief that whatever she did before no longer matters._

Perhaps, she was correct.

“Vhenan,” he began. “Tell me you did not—”

Eirwen crossed her arms, eyes flicking upward, lips pursing. Then, they slid back to him and she was back to herself. “If you say sell yourself, I promise I’ll hit you.” Her arms tightened. “Well,” she swallowed. She motioned to her face, and grew a little paler. “I know what these mean now so… perhaps it’s not entirely off.”

Solas swung off the cot and was on his feet, crossing to her quickly. When he was barely more than an arm’s length away, he stopped. Waited. Then, gently, he reached out. “I would not have put it as such.”

She held up a hand, he saw the crackling green energy on her palm. Not a threat, just a tear. The tear. The Anchor. “Wait.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “Caerina loved you.”

There were hundreds of Caerina’s. Solas paused. Yet, the way she said it, she could only mean one. The young Ena’sal’in he’d met one hot summer when Elgar’nan first ordered him to employ his skills on Falon’din’s frontline. _A name I have not thought of in an age._ He’d barely been more than a child then, tasting his first responsibilities in war. Falon’din had assigned Caerina to him from amongst the personal warriors serving under his command to act as both guardian and aid. _She completed her training only recently, he’d said. We both required necessary experience._ In that hot summer before she was elevated out of the common ranks and named Chosen, before he amassed troops and worshippers of his own. They’d met when they were both still young and, he had assumed, new to battle.

Caerina acted as a tutor, guiding him the ways of the Ena’sal’in so he might earn their respect. Come straight from the academies and libraries of Arlathan, he’d had little interest in war. Yet, Caerina managed to teach him.

She’d dared to laugh at his ignorance in a world of servants and sycophants who bowed, scrabbled, and scraped before him. Instead, she risked his rage, told him what to do, taunted him over his initial mistakes.

In the beginning, she pushed him so hard he was certain she wanted him to kill her. He could have, and faced no repercussions for it. Her mockery had not been about him, she never wanted anything from him other than for him to act on her suicidal impulses. Caerina had not expected him to learn. Did not believe he would grow or change. He’d eventually come to understand her pushing and prodding was due to her own frustrated desire for their world to be different.

_Caerina wanted me to prove it could not be._

“Sarina didn’t think much of you, at all really,” Eirwen continued. “Melana believed you were a pretentious little shit, but she thought that about all the Creators. Elva, Aseneth, Iuile, and Elenwen all hated you. Orpha absolutely loathed you.” She opened her eyes, but they were glassy and unfocused. “Aliya was sad you failed to remember her, she thought you would. She watched you and Andruil so many times, but it was just like Falon’din said.” She swallowed. “You never really knew me.” She shook her head, scrubbed her temples. “No. Her.” She glanced up at him. “Given that expression, he probably was correct.”

Solas stiffened. He remembered Aliya also. Tall for a female, startlingly so, with dark green eyes and thick chestnut colored hair. Her proud, stiff back, her casual mockery of her betters, her cold and irreverent sense of humor, the way her eyes studied him as she whispered in Falon’din’s ear. As if she took joy in denying him some secret knowledge. She’d had a defeated bitterness to her, a vicious streak, and was always on the edge of lashing out. Yet, at the time, her antagonism hardly seemed to matter. He avoided all council meetings and they rarely crossed paths. _After Caerina, I was more than a little obsessed with finding a way to destroy him_. Like all the Chosen before her, Aliya had been one reason so many attempts ended in resounding failure.

If Aliya was Caerina, then her behavior took on a wholly different meaning.

After Caerina’s death, he had fallen back in with Andruil. _When I first saw Aliya, she was delivering a missive for Andruil from Falon’din._ He had been the one to answer the door. _She believed I forgot her._ Hadn’t he? In a way, he also sought a return to the comfort of the familiar, to ease and forget a broken heart. When treading past paths had failed, he turned to petty revenge, then work, and, finally, rebellion. _With more than a few other lovers between._

He watched Eirwen scrub her forehead, fingers pushing up through the orange bangs flopping on her brow. Soft skin paling beneath what could only be the weight of memories. He wondered how much she did remember.

_I promised I would find her, did I not? I told I knew her like the gallant fool I was, that I would always know her._ He had failed, then. _No words I said could ever sway another of Falon’din’s Chosen after._

Solas nearly shook his head.

“Alitya died in a match with your champion.” Her hand rose to her neck. “I feel it, here. Like a hot poker in my throat. His blade it was…” Eirwen trailed off.

“Poisoned,” he said. He couldn’t keep the stiffness from his voice. “Perhaps not my proudest moment.”

She laughed. A pained laugh, perhaps, but still a laugh.

“I was not joking,” he said, carefully.

“I know,” Eirwen said.

The brave smile quirking her lips reminded him of why he loved her. _I must find some way to rescue her from this, to undo it._ Perhaps, Cole could help. He could not claim to understand what had happened, only that his resolve to throttle Harel had tripled. _And if Falon’din were not safely tucked out of reach…_ His jaw ground. _Without either my foci or Dirthamen’s there may be little I can do._ With no way to return her as she was and with no ability to know where these new memories might lead her, she had grown substantially more dangerous to him. Were it not for Corypheus and the Anchor, the swiftest course would be to remove her immediately before the threat increased.

His mouth tightened.

_Do not think that way,_ he told himself.

“I’m all jumbled,” she said, her voice soft. “Ir abelas, Solas, I can’t do this.”

“What has he done to you?” Solas asked.

Eirwen sank back to the cot. “What he always does,” she said. “Reminds me of what I am and who I serve.”

He frowned.

Her eyes flicked up to him, orange lashes narrowing around wondrous summer blue irises. “It isn’t like that.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I know some part of you is thinking about killing me, Solas.” The tiny brave smile widened into a rather mirthless grin, it was one he had seen before. The fearless smile which graced the lips of so many other women as they stood against the tide. On Eirwen’s visage, it was unfamiliar. “Take comfort, Lethallin, you won’t be the only one.”

Solas’ throat went dry and he swallowed thickly.

She stood. “Listen to Harel before you make any decisions.” Brushing her hands down her pants, Eirwen’s gaze returned to the floor. As if she would rather look anywhere but at him. “It’s best if the two of you talk it out alone.” Instead, it shifted to the tent flap. “I have other problems to deal with.”

“I see.” His eyes narrowed. “You have decided these others are more important.”

She shrugged. “Of course not. However, you can discuss this with Harel without compromising either of you. I need to speak to Iron Bull and Varric, assure them that I’m not possessed.” She crossed her arms. “It’s best if it comes from me.”

“Have you been?” Solas asked.

He was surprised when she laughed. “I suppose, it depends on your point of view.”

_Again, hardly comforting._ All he could say, she was attempting to treat him honestly and to deal with this openly. More she planned to allow the others in on her predicament, including Cassandra and Cullen. Even within their immediate group, Varric had dealt with a rogue apostate who had taken a spirit into his body and been responsible for the lighting the match in the current mage rebellion, while Iron Bull possessed a deep loathing of demons. Neither could be counted on to react well or even with an understanding and open mind, especially not to someone in a position of such supreme authority. A mage on whose shoulders the fate of their world rested. For a mage in her situation and surrounded by Chantry forces, it counted for more than she might imagine.

_I will not allow her to be made tranquil._

The thought was sudden. Surprising.

As abhorrent as the idea was, it might solve many immediate problems while still leaving her capable of performing necessary functions such as closing the rifts. It would certainly be a blow to moral for all involved, but not an irrecoverable one. Regardless, he would do whatever was necessary to keep such an act from occurring. _Even if it requires we abandon the Inquisition and run._ Stopping Corypheus would be difficult then. _Yet, both with her newfound knowledge and the freedom to use it, perhaps not so impossible._ He had not counted on the Inquisitor awakening into another of the People. He must trust, at least for now, that their goals remained aligned.

_In order for elves to be considered as allies,_ he remembered saying, _we must be above reproach._

Solas watched Eirwen walk to the tent flap with quick light steps, her gait had changed slightly since yesterday. Slightly longer and flatter, with a roll toward the inside of her foot. If he noticed, it was possible others might also. Those trained to notice discrepancies, especially amongst mages.

She was no longer above reproach.

The tent flap opened to gray light, the dawn’s light.

A black shadow slid inside.

“I see you’ve both calmed down.” Harel’s voice echoed through the tent.

“Ghil'en!” Eirwen cried. She threw herself at Harel, arms wrapping round his shoulders as she pulled him into a tight hug, the hug of one meeting family or an old friend. An action that was strangely childlike, innocent, and open for one so restrained and cautious when it came to interpersonal relations.

_Teacher?_ Solas wondered. _Guide?_

Harel grinned, and he held her just as tightly.

“Oh,” she blinked and let him go. Her brow wrinkled, she shook her head. “Ir abelas, Harel.” Her arms dropped to her sides. Gaze lifting as her mouth pursed. “It’s just… surprisingly good to see you.” Her head tilted and she smiled, more than a little sheepishly. “Properly, I mean.” Then, she frowned. “I think.”

Harel ruffled her hair. “Tel’abelas, da’mi. I understand. Now is always a confusing time.”

Solas felt his stomach tighten, with worry and some—he was ashamed to say—jealousy.

“You are doing well without any of the necessary preparations or proper training,” Harel continued.

“Yes,” she said. “Yet, I can’t afford to be distracted.”

“Not with an enemy such as Corypheus upon the horizon,” Harel said. He lifted his knuckles and gave her a gentle rap on her forehead. “I knew there was some chance of encountering Falon’din upon a second visit into the prison, but I did not expect him to awaken you.”

“It was strange,” she agreed. Her eyes dropped to her hand and the mark. “Perhaps, he believes I can do the same for him.”

Solas flinched. Stuffing his feelings back below the surface, he held his tongue. Watching Harel and Eirwen together might prove more illuminating than talking to either in isolation. Harel’s reaction suggested he recognized her. _He knew._

Then, she frowned. “No.” She shook her head. “He had no instructions for me, other than to warn me away from Dirthamen’s foci. He believes his revival is a certainty.”

“Ah!” Harel reached around into his back, flipped open his pouch with a flick of his thumb. “I was unsure whether or not to give this to you.” Pulling out some small object Solas could not identify, he deposited it into her palm. “A favorite if I recall.”

He watched Eirwen’s eyes fall to her palm, watched a warm smile broke across her mouth. “Serannas!” Then, she laughed. “Ma melava uth’halani!”

“‘Ma neral, da’mi.”

“It is good,” she said. “I’m glad we still keep our traditions, Ghil'en.”

“I would not forget. However,” Harel said, his vocal patterns switching back to a lower class and a more modern Thedosian dialect. Solas watched as Harel’s hand settled on hers and he closed her fist. “I also don’t recommend eating it.”

She laughed. “I can’t imagine it tastes good after five thousand years.”

“Even amongst the People, spells of preservation are hardly perfect.”

Had Eirwen not returned from the prison? Was this truly someone else after all? Had some other servant of Falon’din’s possessed her? She said it depended on how one thought of it. She had been concerned about Harel, now she was entirely comfortable. He tucked his hands behind his back. _If that is so, then there may be nothing I can do._ Short of retrieving Dirthamen’s foci, taking its power, lowering the Veil, and unlocking the prison, though none of those actions would invariably bring her back. He could follow his intended course with no guarantee of ever recovering her.

_If she is lost, then it is my doing._ His foolish spell. _I ought to know better._

“I assume one of you shall eventually explain,” he said. “Or do you intend to force me into educated guessing?”

They glanced at each other, then Eirwen patted Harel’s arm.

_Yet another troubling expression of friendship._

“Can you handle this without me?” she asked.

“Have I not explained it many times to Falon’din’s confused priests?” Harel grinned. “This is no different.”

She waved a hand. “Do not speak as you did to Alihari.”

“Why not?” Harel leaned over her. “I believe I only scarred her for—”

Her fingers flashed, forming shapes, letters, those became words. Hand sign. Common enough, especially amongst the Dalish when the need for silent communication was paramount. These shapes, however, were much more familiar. He’d seen them countless times before between Ena’sal’in. One of the languages spoken by those guardian warriors of the Temples. Each one was slightly different in relation to province and god. The dialect was native to the guard among Falon’din’s southern temples, or perhaps Dirthamen’s. One he’d never taken the time to truly learn.

His temples and followers also had their own, he remembered, however he could not say he understood that one either. His curiosity had never quite been great enough to discover what they were saying, it was a parcel of the Ghilan’him banal’vhen. Champions, bodyguards, personal servants, and slaves, at the time, he’d known them to be beneath him. A few words had been passed to him after the rebellion began for purposes of silent communication. _I preferred magical communication, it was much quicker, capable of being used across vast distances, and, when coded properly, carried less chance of interception or translation by a single scrying scholar._

Harel’s fingers returned a response.

Eirwen’s eyes rolled and she stuck out her tongue, clapping her hands together. Signing a much more rude gesture, one a Dalish scout once used with him, she met Solas’ eyes with a glance. He merited an encouraging smile, though nothing about what he had witnessed was at all reassuring. Then, in three long strides, she disappeared through the tent flap.

She had a history with Harel. One he did not share.

“So,” Solas said. “I suppose you do eventually plan on providing some kind of explanation.”

“It depends, Falon’fen.” Harel’s arms crossed. “Are you in the mood to listen?”

“Must you insist on using that foolish name?” Solas growled.

“It’s yours,” Harel replied, cheerfully. “I’m sure our Inquisitor will be pleased over how much you’ve grown to hate it.”

Solas sighed. “I do not,” he said. “I merely dislike the use you put it to.”

Harel laughed, settling on the cot fluidly with graceful ease. One leg hooked across the other. The scout’s gear hung off him oddly now, ill-fitting as his disguise shed again. He sat with a straight back, perfect posture; the kind resembling a house slave in Tevinter or a servant in Orlais rather than according to more ancient customs. His posture indicated he lounged with one of equal station, not a better.

_More mockery, I see._ “How long have you known, Harel?”

“From the moment she and I met,” Harel said. “Before then, I had my suspicions. I joined this Inquisition on account of them.”

“Yet you did not act,” Solas murmured. “Why?”

“Why would I?” Harel countered. “We are not all you, Falon’fen. She deserved a chance to make a life for herself, as this new self, free from either the demands or confusion of our shared past.”

“You would, however, sacrifice her to Dirthamen’s foci.”

“Events have taken a turn,” Harel said. “They are now far outside what I might have wished. The course must be corrected.” He leaned forward. “Is that not always how it is, Falon’fen?”

Solas paused and kept his face still. His hands tucked behind his back, pressed against his spine. It never truly hurt to adopt a position of authority. Distant, stuffy, confused, he might be all those and it worked to his advantage to present himself as such. _It is, perhaps, what Harel expects._ However, Harel’s easy answer confirmed his worst fears. “She is not possessed, then.”

“Not by any foreign entity,” Harel said. “They are memories, Falon’fen. The skills, the experience, and the knowledge of another’s life passed on into a new self. The same spirit, merely awakened. It is not the gift of some foreign entity. While the emotions may return, the personalities do not come forward.” Black eyes glinted in orange candlelight. “At least, that is how she has always described it.”

“Ah.” He swallowed.

“The Inquisitor will still require training to make full use of all she now knows.” He rested a hand on his knee and reached down, drawing forth a small knife from his boot. “Usually a Chosen receives preparation and training from childhood to ensure a seamless transition, to keep the sudden influx from being too damaging.”

“And now that she has,” Solas said. “Who shall be her teacher? You?”

“She is my student,” Harel replied. “My protégé, of a kind. We have danced this dance many times, she and I. As you’ve seen, we know the steps well.”

Solas frowned.

“It’d be easier to control her if it were you, I suppose,” Harel said.

“I did not say that!”

Harel spun the knife between his fingers, then he lifted it together with his right hand and began to clean his nails. “You didn’t need to, Falon’fen.” He glanced up, then circled the blade at Solas. “It’s in your eyes.”

He sighed. “You knew it was her, did you not?” He could not argue an accurate assessment. “How were you able to recognize her?”

“Experience.” His mouth twisted. “I am her Ghil'en.”

_It does make a certain kind of sense, when one thinks of it._ He let the rest of his irritation go. “And Falon’din?”

Harel shrugged, sliding the blade tip back beneath his index finger’s nail. “He charts her life and death by the movements of the heaven’s lights within the strands of the planar tapestry.”

Solas stared at him.

“He recognizes the passage of her spirit, the sensation of it,” Harel said. “The pull of her mind, I suppose, the face beneath the mask. From the beginning, he has always known when and where she will appear.” His shoulders lifted and sank. “Both he and Dirthamen use divination to predict the future with startling accuracy.” Flicking away a small bit of dirt, he shrugged. “It is a skill they learned and began honing during their war with the Uthunuan.”

“Interesting,” he murmured. “I knew of Dirthamen’s fascination with such secrets, yet I did not realize the depths to which he took his work.”

“Few do,” Harel said. “Readings of the fates, the Fade, the Void, and stars was a specialty of theirs. It remains best to adopt the successful magics of the enemy, as you know.” Harel shook his head, moving to the next finger. “Dirthamen had the greater talent for it, while Falon’din was more skilled at the molding and manipulation of the spirit. While Dirthamen was able to predict events and occurrences, Falon’din specialized in studying the passage from death to life and life to death. As you know, he put his skills to greatest use on the battlefield.”

“I had wondered at his overwhelming dominance,” Solas replied. “More to the faith Elgar’nan entrusted in him, despite his proclivities and obsessions.”

“And his attempt to conquer all the other gods,” Harel added.

“So, he learned to trace those lives of his dead soldiers, his fallen champions, and his generals.”

“Not only his,” Harel replied. “All those fallen servants, many of the most potentially useful were plucked out from beneath the notice of their rightful overlords. Paid a pittance for eternal devotion.”

“Then, he learned to not only predict his enemies but sway their own fates and those of their followers, no matter how imperfectly. Upon the resurrection of his servants, he revived their memory of their past selves and placed them back into their previous positions.” Solas swallowed. _I never imagined either had such imagination, or success in their applications._ It was marvelous in its way. The secrets Dirthamen’s foci must hide, like the temporal rifts at Redcliffe. Secrets few even within the pantheon had ever seen and the knowledge of how to practice them. What Andruil had spoken of in the prison was still true. The foci was still out there, waiting for a god to claim it. “He could not have done this often.”

“They escaped notice of the younger gods, not the elder. As you surmise, it is not a process unique to the Inquisitor,” Harel said. “Falon’din and Dirthamen both had preferred servants whom they reclaimed time and again in order to remind them of past service. Those who would serve and those who would not, all returned to serve them again.”

“Yes,” Solas said. His fist clenched at his side. It was brilliant and monstrous, he admired the genius behind such a plan even as he hated himself for doing so. Another unending cycle of slavery, wherein they used their greater understanding to force the wheel to bow before them. _No escape from service, not even in death._ “Why worry over wasting lives, wasting more than a mortal lifetime worth of experiences, when you can simply await your strongest to return?”

Harel shrugged. “They did not always hold a position open. Only a few.” His eyes rose again. “As there are few, and fewer still resilient enough to survive it throughout multiple lives.” He flicked away a bit of dirt from his nail. “It is an overwhelming number comparatively. Many these had unique destinies of their own. With these careers and fates intercepted, changed, to be molded and reshaped into more model servants.”

“And the Inquisitor is such a one.” Solas gritted his teeth. _No wonder Caerina was so angry, so desperate, railing and clawing at her cage, rebelling in the only way she knew._

“With the power of this Anchor on her hand,” Harel replied. Slowly, he stood. “I expected Falon’din to wait. Perhaps, some aspect of what he saw unsettled him.”

Slowly, Solas studied him. Harel’s eyes were utterly empty. No mirth existed there, no real amusement, except at his expense.

Leaning over, the other elf slid the blade back into his boot. “Well, it is all a rather pointless exercise in futility.” One hand swept some debris from his pants. “He will come for her eventually, be it in this life or the next.”

Eirwen flashed through his mind. Perched upon the arm of Falon’din’s throne as Aliya and Orpha once had, leaning over to whisper in the god’s ear. Her eyes fixed upon him, a mischievous smile tugging the corner of her mouth as one finger lifted a silken strand off Falon’din’s snow-white brow.

His stomach lurched.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Harel smiled at him, a loose grin. “When the one meant to be yours is stolen away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad people are still enjoying this story! It's gone in such a weird direction. I mean, I'm having fun but it's always a question of whether anyone else is. So, thank you for the comments and kudos. They do mean a lot to me.
> 
> Words from FenxShiral’s Project Elven (and the DA wiki)
> 
> “Ghil’an” - Guide, Teacher (What Eirwen calls Harel, implying a greater closeness and a more official bond between them than when she calls Solas “hahren”, which is elder but also can work as teacher.)
> 
> "Ma melava uth’halani" - The normal idiom is “ma melava halani” and FenxShiral’s project says “An elvish idiom essentially meaning, “You have spent your time to help me.” Archaic and intimate. Rarely spoken to those who are not very close friends, family, or lovers.”, Incorporated uth as the adverb to halani, into uth’halani to mean “You have always spent your time helping me.” Or more literally “You have spent your time eternally helping me.” Essentially “Thank you, you have always helped me.” Implying this has happened many times before. Probably not totally right, but it’s what I got.
> 
> 'Ma neral. - My enjoyment. My pleasure. Archaic and informal. As before, ‘ma is a contraction of emma.


	16. The Woman Finds Her Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone takes a breath.

“So…” Varric trailed off. “You’re not actually possessed?”

Eirwen leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Nope,” she said. It was important to keep her voice light. “I’d make a joke about being slightly molested, but it’s not funny.” She watched him carefully, eyes occasionally shifting just enough to take in Iron Bull. Slowly, Eirwen smiled. “I don’t think.”

“Depends on the audience,” Varric said. He answered her smile with a reassuring one of his own, but it was just as empty. “Sometimes, they just want you to point at the idol and say where the ancient elven god touched you.”

“And sometimes,” Eirwen replied. “They’d rather you just throw yourself from a cliff. Call it good. Like what the whole Chantry wants to do with me.”

She watched his hand drop and hang at his side, fingers stroking Bianca’s trigger. “There’s one obvious change,” Varric said. “You’re developing a better sense of humor.”

“This was always mine,” she replied. “I just held my tongue.”

“Really?” Iron Bull asked. “I’m not noticing much difference.”

She glanced at Bull, quirking an eyebrow. “I could start speaking in ancient elvhen, if it would make you more uncomfortable.”

His eye narrowed and he shook his massive head. “No thank you, I’m good.”

They sat around the tree stump as the scouts kept a respectful distance. At least two, though, could hear everything she said. _It’s not like the tent, which can be spelled for some level of privacy._ The report would reach Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen back at Skyhold well ahead of her. _Good._ She wanted to give those three time to process and think over their plans. It gave her time, would let her know what to look for in the behaviors of the soldiers, keep tabs on whether or not they’d be planning to arrest her. _Hiding it will only make the whole nasty business worse._

“There’s a reason I’m telling you,” Eirwen said. “Part of what happened last night was due to an ancient elven artifact, like the one Corypehus used at Haven to open the Breach.”

Cole settled in at her side, his legs tucked under him, head tilted as he watched her from beneath the brim of his hat. Out of all her companions, his behavior toward her had changed the least. In fact, it hadn’t changed at all. “The voices whisper in nightmares to those who listen,” he said. “They want to be free.”

“Well, shit,” Varric said.

 _Strangely gratifying,_ Eirwen thought. _Like I’m not actually going mad._ “Exactly, Cole.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t just leave it be. If I don’t, someone else will.” Forcing her lips into a casual smile, she tapped her knee. “However, there’s a good chance it will try to steal the life of anyone who goes.”

“Leading to temptation, betrayal, like everything to do with the Fade,” Varric said. “I went through this with Hawke.”

“Yes,” Eirwen replied. “That’s how it’ll be.”

“So, a lot of demons crawling about inside your head?” Bull asked.

She nodded.

“Sounds fun.”

“Shit,” Varric repeated.

“I’m only taking volunteers,” Eirwen said. “This isn’t a question of leading or following. It’s trust. After the artifact is safe or destroyed, we can deal with what’s happened to me.”

“That’ll be exciting,” Varric said. “Can’t imagine either Cullen or the Seeker taking it well.”

Iron Bull grunted, but he said nothing.

“If you say no, Bull,” she added. “I won’t hold it against you.”

Bull’s head lifted. He straightened up on his log, one hand moving to swing his great axe over his knees. Then, he reached down and collected an oiled cloth. Slowly, he wiped down the curve of the blade and back. Not usually a nervous tick, but a sign he was seeking the comfort of the familiar.

_I can hardly blame him._

“It isn’t that, boss,” he said. “Just trying to wrap my head around it. Among the Qunari, you becoming an abomination would be grounds for an immediate execution.”

“Same is true for both the Templars and the Chantry,” Varric added. “Glad we left Vivienne and the Seeker at home, now?”

“No,” Bull replied flatly.

She glanced at Cole.

Varric studied her for a second, then he followed her gaze. “Is she one, kid?”

“There are many voices inside,” Cole said. “But they’re all the same one, the same voice, no struggle. You’re stretching, changing, pieces filling into to fit. Still you, but more than there was before. Nothing tearing. If it were a spirit, there’d be two. They’d be fighting, struggling. This is… woken, memory, remembrance.”

“It’s a lost technique,” Eirwen said. “Used by the elven gods to reawaken some lost servants. The ancients were immortal, but they could die and many of the lower classes did. Questioning my loyalty isn’t wrong, Varric. I just haven’t lost control in the usual way, if anything I’m more dangerous than I was before.” Her eyes dropped to the green crack in her palm. “Given how much is riding on my shoulders, suspicion is fine.”

“Still can’t believe Daisy’s gods are real.”

Eirwen shrugged. “Someone has to be right.”

“While everyone else is wrong,” Varric said.

“Or right,” Eirwen replied. “The Dalish aren’t. I doubt your friend will be any happier once she learns the truth.”

“Maybe I’ll leave it out of the letters.” He shook his head. “It’s creepy that you’re the calm one, you know.”

“It’s a struggle,” she replied.

“Well,” he nodded. “Now, I feel slightly better.”

“I promise, I’ll scream and hurl fireballs at a wall when we get back to Skyhold.”

“Just not where the Seeker can see you,” Varric said. “She might not appreciate it the right way.”

Eirwen laughed. “Point taken.”

Both men went quiet, their eyes anywhere but on her.

Her gaze moved from one to the other, neither indicated they wanted to go and with Varric telling jokes wasn’t necessarily a sign they were still friends. _Again, I can’t blame them._ It was wrong to expect everything to be fine. The lives that stretched back inside her memory, they all told her the same. Informing others meant lost friendships, confusion, and irritation on the part of whomever needed to perform a mind wipe in order to fix her mess. _It can’t stay between me and Harel, or Solas._ She didn’t have the same protected position and, without the training, no guarantee that she wouldn’t completely change. No guarantee she wouldn’t endanger herself or others. A lie could only last so long, best to beat it first and get in ahead of the curve with a good position. _The Inquisitor fell prey to demons may become a familiar refrain._ Still, better that then them sitting around guessing what happened.

They didn’t need to know that Harel could fix their memories, possibly the memory of everyone in camp sans Solas and Cole, if it became necessary. _Or, well, Solas too, his defenses are simply better._ Varric might be an issue. _I could too, when I remember how._

Not a skill she was particularly interested in reviving.

She glanced at Cole, but he wasn’t watching her.

His gaze had risen to the trees and the raven sitting in the branches overhead.

 _Still looking out for me,_ Eirwen thought. Her hands remained loose on her knees, despite the urge to grip them tightly.

Iron Bull’s iris flicked, a subtle drop in motion, watching her through the eyes of his Ben’hassrath training. She could track his facial expressions now, the subtle flicker in each micro-twitch. They’d been something of a mystery before, each crease and easy smile a hidden piece of a greater puzzle. The general relaxation hiding a tense bundle of nerves beneath the surface. Worry. Stress. Rage. Anger. All present and seething, even if he was more settled than waters untroubled by wind or tide. He studied her as thoroughly as Varric did, but, perhaps, with mild terror instead of skepticism.

 _A fear which will only grow if he learns the whole truth._ She’d been a skilled mage before, knowledgeable in kept traditions of the People and discovered more through her Knight Enchanter training. Her discussions on theory with Dorian, Solas, and Vivienne had taught her more even than that. _All of it just a copper in the bucket by comparison._ In all her many lifetimes, she hardly counted as a scholar. _It doesn’t matter._ She now knew that what Iron Bull once described with the Ben’hassrath re-educators was child’s play compared to the lengths with which one could go to when redesigning another’s mind. _Or the process Elgar’nan once had Dirthamen use when he elevated Ghilan’nain._

“I’ll leave you to think it through,” Eirwen said.

“No need for that, Bright Eyes,” Varric replied. “Wouldn’t miss this story for the world.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Varric.”

“Can’t say I’m as sure as Varric, boss,” Bull said. “Signed on ‘till the end though.”

Varric crossed his arms. “You know the Qunari, they don’t question or complain.” She watched his eyes narrow. “Until they stab you in the back.”

“Sure,” Bull replied. “We find something good, I write home to the Ben’hassrath, then they abandon Par Vollen to come here and conquer all Southern Thedas.”

“For the same power that opened the Breach?” Varric shot back. “We can’t even be certain Fereldan, Orlais, Nevarra, or Rivain would let us keep it.”

Bull shook his head. “Point taken.”

“That’s exactly why we’re destroying it,” Eirwen said. “Better if no one has it.”

“How does Chuckles feel about that?” Varric asked. “Bet he’s not pleased your planning to get rid of a precious elven artifact when he could be studying it.”

Narrowing her eyes, she let her gaze drop to the forest floor. _He’s probably already coming up with his own plan._ Her mouth pressed into a thin line. _Fen’Harel doesn’t give up easily and, more than the power, any of the knowledge hidden in the foci could help him substantially._ Her eyes squeezed shut, fingers tensing on her knee. _I’d be a fool to think I know even half of the secrets Harel knows, no matter how long or closely the three of us worked together._ Talking to Varric and Bull, it helped to suppress the memories, but they lingered on the edges. After all, what she knew and understood barely mattered. _Fen’Harel never thought much of the Ena’sal’in or our arts, though Dirthamen extracted so much from our secrets._ Why want those when one could learn to read the Heavens to see all events in play? _As if I don’t know how to bend both the mind and spirit, or that Falon’din never taught me to read the ebb and flow of a battlefield._ The Anchor crackled, sparked. Hardly unusual except, given everything, it felt more reactive than usual.

Her eyes opened, falling to her palm. She sank into the glow now, felt the pull behind it, drawing her ever deeper into the abyss. Somewhere in the torrential current of energies, she felt Falon’din.

_Pale winter light glints through the empty, leafless branches overhead. Her feet crunch on a thin bank of snow. She’s run away again, for the third time in a month. Her pack hangs heavy on her back, the burn of a slave’s vallaslin on her cheeks. Lighting fiercely as she passes the border of her master’s territory. It is pain, she has grown accustomed._

_Her mother will be angry, again. She promised. No more embarrassments. They’ll all live a comfortable life, watching the others work the fields while at the window. Would she rather be out among the crops? Working from before dawn ‘till after dusk with only the comfort of the lash? The house is better, isn’t it? She only need dodge a few grasping hands on her way out of the kitchens, keep her head low and forget to dream._

Mother will be fine.

_As the mother of three bastards, the master won’t punish her._

_Sarina turns._

_Tall, his hair falls down his back in long black waves. An inky shadow in black with skin paler than the surrounding snow. Loose cape hiding the sharp cut of finely fit armor, like the warriors who guard the roads between Andruil’s Reach and the snowcapped mountains. He tilts his head, an easy smile curving his lips. “Well, well.” Golden eyes glittering as he studies her. “A lamb wandering into Andruil’s hunting grounds. Do you hope for a quick death, little one?”_

A cold hand settled on her shoulder. Cole’s hand.

She looked up, into a pair of concerned yellow irises. “Serannas,” she said. Reaching out, she rested her fingers on his. “I’m fine.”

“He’s in you,” Cole whispered. “Tied you to him. Searching, seeking, intercepting another path, he changed fate. Changed everything. _He sees her standing on the hilltop, her eyes lifted toward the sky. A small body in an endless stretch of snow. ‘This one is not much,’ he thinks. Another servant ground into dust, who will serve as she is meant. She turns back. Wide eyes shift to him. She glows like the sun. Unexpectedly, the words die in his throat. He now understands what the knots meant._ You’re his, but not his. In you, without belonging.”

“I suppose,” Eirwen replied.

“I’m going to regret asking what you two are talking about, aren’t I?”

“Her pain touches his, the interwoven weight of history. He stole something meant to be that wasn’t for him. He thought he could control it, but he became it instead.” Cole huddled lower, blinking large, round eyes. “I don’t understand.”

She touched his cheek. “Don’t look at him, Cole.” Slowly, she swallowed. _Solas, Fen’Harel, he lets him in. He lets him see, sometimes._ Perhaps, he couldn’t always control what Cole saw, but he could decide if he did. Falon’din could do at least as much. _Given his dabbling in Dirthamen’s magic of the mind, possibly more._ She didn’t know the true limits of either. “This connection goes two ways.” Her eyes flicked over the spirit boy, watching for changes in expression.

Cole shivered. “He feels me.”

“I know.” _He isn’t like Solas._ “Let it go.”

“You got an old lover among the elven gods or something, Bright Eyes?” Varric’s voice brought her back.

Her lips twitched, half a smile. _I need to protect my memories better._ “Yes.”

“Shit,” Varric muttered.

There was a great deal of pain in them, much more so than joy, and Cole would be attracted to it. They would only hurt him. Guarding her thoughts, while simultaneously opening her mind, as she had once learned to with Harel during her training in Dirthamen’s temple would negate some of it. _I just have to return to old habits._ Not exactly a joyful thought. There was plenty in who she’d been that was best forgotten. Better to think of cool forests and babbling brooks, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of tinkling bells as halla pulled the aravels, and the hunters who laughed as they practiced their bow work in the gray light of dawn. _Falon’din would never be content in that life._ Despite his preference for the simple clothes of an elven apostate, she wasn’t sure about Solas. Much of it was simply a guise to hide his true self. It was difficult to imagine Fen’Harel of the lavish parties, the slow celebrations which lasted not only months but years, and decadent towers abandoning it all for the life of an impoverished wanderer. _All of it assumes he’d even still want to be with me._ Or that they could be. _We’re aligned, but only until we stop the Breach._ Who knew what would happen after that.

Slowly, she stood. “If there’s no more questions,” she said. “We should get moving.”

“Not a one, boss,” Bull said.

Varric smirked. “Lead the way, Bright Eyes.”

 _While you both keep a very close watch on my back,_ Eirwen thought. Her lips yanked sideways into half a smile. Brushing her hands on her pants, she withheld a sigh and turned. Her eyes met stormy blue-gray ones and she bit her cheek. A few paces away, both Solas and Harel stood side by side, watching her.

“If you are prepared, we are ready,” Solas said.

She nodded. Pushing herself to her feet, she turned southward and picked up her staff. It felt odd to hold one in her hands now. Wrong, in its way. The staff was the weapon of a noble like Solas, one belonging to those who passed their lives in the white gold towers and crystal spires, studying ancient mysteries in the great halls. Built as a channel for the slow and ponderous magics, unsuitable for one who must function in the quickening world of battle.

 _Those are elvhen prejudices,_ Eirwen decided. _It doesn’t mean the same now._

Falon’din had barred her from study amongst his priests, among the philosophers and scholars of the higher academies. It was not her place. Her eyes flicked to Solas, to Fen’Harel. _He studied there._ He watched her with trepidation. _He knew how to build spells that formed to music and carried their melodies._ Those magics powerful enough to raise mountains, lay down the roads and pathways which had long since crumbled to dust, and held a towering crystal city in the sky.

Obedience had been required before, not experimentation.

_This is a new world though, isn’t it?_

She watched Solas’ brow crease slightly in a frown and her eyes dropped.

No point in thinking it.

“Then,” she said with a smile. “Follow me.”

 

***

 

Hours later, they were still making their way through the forest. Yet, Solas found his eyes rarely wandered. He hung back, allowing Iron Bull and Varric to travel ahead with their worried eyes on the Inquisitor. Eirwen ranged ahead with Harel at the front. He wanted to believe she was giving him space to sort through what had happened in the prison, the truths she’d discovered about herself, what she’d learned about him, and begin to process all the twisting turns of what it meant for them both.

Yes, he wanted to believe it was that.

He did not want to think she was avoiding him.

Each time he caught her glance at Harel, the slightest smile, the barest hint of laughter, it all left his stomach twisted. Gut wrenched. The confirmation, when neither’s lips moved, that they were communicating in their separate language.

 _The Chosen are monsters,_ he reminded himself. _The Voices are monsters._

Iulie who had once dragged one of his finest champions, Niahla barefoot and screaming across the white marble floor of the Coliseum to be beheaded before the steepled hands of Elgar’nan. _As I watched, able to do nothing._ He had never forgotten the glint in Iulie’s eyes when she wrenched back Niahla’s head and sank her blade deep into the other woman’s throat. The Chosen, the hunters in Falon’din’s darkness. The deliverers of his will. The subjugators who rooted out rebellion in the shadows. The ones who corrected those practicing “improper” behavior, the ones who prepared the way for Andruil’s sacrifices. Raised in blood and battle, they were Falon’din’s fist to Dirthamen’s polite hand.

Light flashed as Harel leaned in close and Eirwen laughed. A ringing sound, soft and clear in the woods. It was not a sound which carried, not far anyway. She swallowed the rest of it as one hand clapped over her mouth. Summer blue eyes winking and dancing in the sunlight. Her mouth pulled to the side in a warm smile, the same smile she’d worn before all this began.

He found a one of his own touching his mouth. His gaze followed her slight head turn, the eyes which almost glanced back before they caught themselves. The tightening of her jaw as she returned those wondrous eyes to the path ahead.

 _It’s terrible, isn’t it?_ Harel’s voice echoed in his mind. _When the one meant to be yours is stolen away._

The implication was clear, if not outright stated. Falon’din had stolen this. Perhaps, he had stolen her. _How?_ It felt ridiculous. His life was not bound up in some greater web, plucking him in motion as if he were a puppet on its strings. He had never been a great believer in fate. It was one thing to track a strong spirit moving between this dimension and the next, another to perpetually intercept it, but to be bound in the action? No. He existed in a world of choices. His life went ungoverned by some greater hand. The Chosen may have been victims in Falon’din’s hands, but he was not. They were shaped by their master, pitiable in their way. Fervent in belief and fanatical, they were closer to Falon'din than any of his priests. In a world filled with so much pain, theirs was only a drop in the bucket. They, at least, could learn their way was wrong.

 _They were still given choices!_ _They chose him in each and every turn!_

Even Caerina. In the end, even she chose Falon’din.

“She isn’t them,” Cole’s voice murmured from his elbow.

“Thank you, Cole,” Solas replied. “I am grateful to hear it.”

“She was less and now she’s more, but the voices still want her. Empty, burrowing, black, I can’t see its heart. It’s nowhere and everywhere. Feeding, feasting, on those who come too close.” Cole glanced at him with wide eyes. “She wants to help it, soothe it, save it. Put it to its end.” His lower lip trembled. “It can’t be.”

Solas paused. _So, she is planning to destroy the foci._ His hand gripped his staff, his eyes returning to where the Inquisitor walked ahead. _No wonder she has not sought me out. She knows I would disapprove, even seek to stop her._ He should not have been surprised. Though, he doubted it was information she intended to share with him. Calmly, he matched his gait so they might begin to close the distance. “What do you see?”

“You worry she is not as she was and that you loved a lie, she worries you won’t want her even though you do.” The words left Cole’s lips quickly in a rush. “It is… difficult to see deeper. She is brighter now, but her mind is darker, more distant. The old ones, they taught her to hide away secrets like spiders and leave them scuttling in the dark. Her thoughts float, slip away to fluttering memories of how to rewrite a man’s story to suit the face he’s supposed to have.”

Solas swallowed. _I had not realized she remembered that._ His jaw clenched. _It must be disturbing._ More disturbing were she not bothered by it. _Cole is trying to say this adjustment is difficult._ He had difficulty forgiving, but found himself just as troubled by the idea he already had. _If I remain on the sidelines, if I accept her avoidance, if I refuse to interact then Harel will be the only voice to shape her._ Harel would sacrifice her to feed the foci’s power and all would be lost. _I must be the one to take it._ He needed to find some way to convince her to let him.

“It isn’t like with you, Solas,” Cole said. “There’s so much she doesn’t want me to see.”

“Perhaps,” he replied slowly, “she does not wish for those memories to hurt you.”

“They hurt her,” Cole said. “They hurt you, too.”

“I am sorry, Cole,” Solas said. “There may be no easy answers to our current predicament.”

“I want to help.”

He lay a warm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I know.”

 

***

_You are nervous he will reject you._

Her fingers flashed in response. _Wouldn’t you be?_

 _Perhaps,_ he replied. _Yet you will get nowhere running from your true self._

Eirwen sighed. Her fingers rotated, index and middle fingers sliding down her palm. _I know._

 _Embrace it,_ Harel’s hand shaped the words in his quick and efficient way. _The coming trials and your survival in this world depend on this._ His head turned, just slightly, and she saw his mouth quirk. Behind them, Varric and Iron Bull’s heavy footsteps clomped heavily through the woods. _If you were not hiding in fear of their reactions, we could be at the Temple by now._

Eirwen pursed her lips. The magical form she’d been granted upon her raised status in Falon’din’s Temple did still reside in her veins, gifted to ease the burden of long distance travel and for spying. Still, it had never been a particular talent of hers. She only had the one. _I am not ready try and shape change,_ her fingers flicked.

 _I meant the travel spell,_ Harel replied. _The one Falon’din developed for quick marching his troops. Even with the Veil as it stands, such a spell will still function. For a group this size, casting will be a menial task._

Mouth twisting, she rolled her eyes. _You promised you wouldn’t push._

_Sometimes, it is necessary._

_They are afraid of magic and me,_ her hand signed. _I don’t want to take it too far._

_Fair enough._

Overhead light filtered down through leafy branches, dappling across fine strands of grass. A soft breeze blew through the trees, carried between the trunks. Somewhere out there, Red Templars moved within the forest. She could almost feel them now, their blank places within the magical weave tracing between the grass, the trees, the birds, the animals, and the humans. In Arlathan, she’d once had the ability to stretch out her senses for leagues at a time to filter down through a city and locate the life sign of a singular target. Useful, when it had come to rooting out dissenters. Whether those days were ahead or behind her now, she couldn’t be sure. Still, the Templars could not be located by what was. They existed within what wasn’t. The spark inside them had long since burned down, crumbled to cinders, and passed through her fingers as gray ash to be carried off by a cool breeze.

There was nothing left to return, no strand to draw forth, and nothing left to save.

She understood what Cole meant when he said they were dead and dark and done.

Even so, her eyes squeezed shut, the cries were still there. _When at last you reach the end of your path and travel listless in the dark, lost and alone, I shall come to you. Your spirit shall be soothed and lifted up, your heavy heart lain to rest. I deliver you, so you too might be set free._ The old prayer from her hunting days as Falon’din’s Chosen whispered soundlessly off her lips, a promise. _May death carry you swiftly to easy dreams._

Perhaps, they could not be restored. They could be ended. They did not need to remain in this half-existence, with their souls left to scream out in the dark.

She glanced at Harel and found him watching her. Lifting her hand, hiding it before her chest so that the others behind her might not see, she let her gaze narrow. _What do you want from me?_

 _It is not from. This is about what I have always wanted for you,_ his fingers replied.

Eirwen’s brow furrowed into a frown. _Which is?_

_Freedom._

She sighed. That was surprisingly unhelpful. There were too many different kinds of freedom for them all to be accounted for. Ending a life was a kind of freedom, unshackling one from the binds of the past was a form of freedom; they both understood. Freedom was as much a spiritual pursuit as it was within the bounds of a single body, a single culture, or a single reality. It was more than simply an escape from circumstance. To dream that life could be different, that it could take another path, there was freedom in that too. _I was free,_ she returned with quick fingers. _Among the Dalish I was happy._

 _You were not,_ Harel’s hands replied. _It was a momentary pause, a quiet moment to catch your breath, and a pale reflection of what you have long hoped to be. You are still seeking._

Her head turned, her eyes found his smooth face and dark eyes. When their slightly mocking gaze met her own, she glared at him. _I didn’t ask for this,_ her hand said.

He shrugged. _It is yours nevertheless._

Eirwen sighed. Her head turned slightly, gaze shifting as she tried to catch Solas out of the corner of her eye. He’d fallen to the back with Cole. Whether he was watching their rear or simply contemplating, she hoped he could help ease Cole’s worries. Of all those traveling to Dirthamen’s temple, Cole was the most trustworthy. However, he was the most at risk. As a spirit of Compassion, whatever they found inside was bound to disturb him deeply. _I can’t ask him to remain at camp._ If Cole wanted to come, she couldn’t tell him no. _We can’t always protect those we love._ He might be the best ally she had. _Shunting him off from this isn’t a kindness._ He wanted to know the world, what Dirthamen had done was a part of it.

Harel’s hand touched her shoulder.

Her head lifted.

_Sixteen Templars stood on the far side of a green meadow, their carts full to bursting. Sunlight glints off the surface of their plate. Refugees in a variety of patched clothes, one after another, shoved inside. Packed together behind iron bars. Large thick red crystals rolled off into the grass. Three behemoths march around the edges, lumbering on tiny crystalline picks of what had once been legs._

It snapped back and she inhaled a deep breath.

“How far?” Eirwen asked. Harel’s sight had always been better than hers, but her mind told her it was close.

 _Within range,_ Harel’s fingers said. _No more than half a league south._

Nodding, she reached back for her staff. She pursed her lips, Templars in the area made locating the temple all the more paramount. _Still,_ she thought. They were engaging in expected behavior and it synched with the rest of the Templars she’d seen in the area. Nothing unusual. _They’re not at all out of the way either._

“We could go around them,” Harel said.

“No.” Eirwen straightened. “We hit them.”

 _Dangerous._ His fingers flashed. _Without time to prepare, your memories may hamper combat. Mistakes kill easily, just as any blow would._

 _I know,_ she replied. Turning her head, she glanced back at the rest of her followers. Solas had closed the distance, Varric and Iron Bull were stuck together, and Cole had already started to ghost off into the trees. It had to be done. “Form up!” she called. “We’ve got Templars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up involving a fair amount of connective tissue, which is fine. Solas needed some time to reflect. I've been having a lot of fun putting together Arlathan and ancient elven magic, more fun developing alternate cultures for the different sub-classes both among the general slave population and the Ena'sal'in. I've always found soldiers, warriors, and different martial cultures fascinating and it's interesting to think about how that interfaces with general Arlathan society where they're predominately servants/slaves.
> 
> Just me thinking. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	17. Unleashing the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn as Eirwen attacks the Templars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to dedicate this chapter to TeawithLin, Dana Duchy, and all the people who do such tireless work collecting the sequences and dialogue without whom I'd honestly be lost when it comes to presenting these characters. I do not say thank you often enough.
> 
>  **Warning:** This sequence has a fair amount of blood and violence, with some mild sexual content.

They came upon the Templars at midday, when the sun was at its zenith in the bright blue sky. The first sign came with tracks, deep ruts left by the carts on the dirt road. Occasionally a shard or two of red lyrium could be found, its crystalline surface shining like tiny rubies scattered in the grass. Then, came the screams. The wailing howls of traveling villages and refugees as they were dragged off into the forest. Eventually, Eirwen heard the clang of metal as the cage doors slammed shut and the heavy locks clicked into place.

The group stopped at the edge of the clearing, above the slope leading down into a meadow filled with yellow flowers. There, kneeling in the shadows among the trees, they could clearly see the white triangles of tents marking the Templars camp. Silver bodies shuffled about the interior of the camp, warriors with red crystal jutting out between their platemail. Again, Eirwen counted the three behemoths lumbering around the edges. A few sentries stood watch, but remained clearly visible to her enhanced senses.

 _This far out, they can’t sense us._ Slowly, she lifted a hand and felt the magic burn on her palm. She waved it before her with a flick of her wrist. Her power settled in the air, carrying on the breeze, and a thin miasma rolled across the ground before her. It spiraled up and out in a streaming shimmer, spreading between the trees along the meadow’s edge. The air around her glittered, grew into the distant horizon haze of a hot summer’s day. _Like this one._ A small spell, useful for obfuscating towering warriors like Iron Bull when strategizing an approach. It was not entirely unfamiliar either, June’s tinkering had once produced many warriors of similar size. _That or a mass charge,_ she thought.

Small magic made few ripples and an undisturbed pond left the enemy with nowhere to look.

It was more than she required, performed more out of newly remembered habit than genuine need. Normal Templars might’ve noticed. Not these, though.

_The lyrium makes them slaves to Corypheus, but it gives them little purpose._

An army built on madness could only attempt so many strategies. Once learned, the enemy then grew predictable. Eirwen’s mouth pulled sideways, curving up into a smile. _A predictable enemy is one easily defeated._ Dirthamen’s priests always nattered on about how the world was made of patterns. _Place the patterns into shapes, and seek what does not fit._ Within those pieces, the secrets lay. It was true of the mind and spirit as much as any field of battle. Modern Dalish understood little of Dirthamen’s teachings, except in terms of preservation and knowledge. They saw Andruil as the patron of the hunter and the scout but, like Falon’din, Dirthamen was a father of strategy and observation. Skills every hunter needed.

The best approach would’ve been to catch them off guard.

_With only Harel, Varric, and Cole, we could have gotten much closer._

If it were only her and Harel, she might have cast aside her staff, tried to shape change, then dropped in on them before they were ready to either dispel or negate. Between them, sixteen maddened Templars were not much of a challenge. _So long as we didn’t overdo it with the magic._ Vivienne and Cullen’s work with some of the troops to create Templars out of some recruits to watch the Inquisition mages had taught her a great deal about how they functioned. More so than a hundred battles with Red Templars. _As Dirthamen and Falon’din know, what is no longer a mystery can be counteracted._ All knowledge lost its edge in the face of understanding.

“So, Boss,” Iron Bull asked. “What’s the plan?”

“They haven’t set up a perimeter,” Eirwen replied. “So, no need for any true clean up.” She glanced at Harel. “I want you and Cole to skirt the edges, tackle those few scouts while Bull and I charge from the front.”

“We providing a distraction?” Bull grinned. “Or we doing the heavy lifting?”

“Both,” Eirwen said. “Solas supports with ranged magic and barriers.”

“Very well,” Solas murmured. “Should you insist on rushing in foolishly, then there is little I can do but fulfill my assigned role.”

Biting her cheek, she repressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Watch his back for me, Varric.”

“You got it, Bright Eyes.”

She watched Solas’ eyes narrow, his lips compressing. The disapproval rolled off him in waves. “Given the Inquisitor’s current state,” he said, “ensure you watch her closely, Iron Bull.”

“Don’t think she needs it,” Bull rumbled. Then, he paused and glanced at her with a narrowed eye. “But, yeah, okay, good idea.”

Swallowing another sigh, Eirwen stood. “We’ll give Group A,” her hand motioned to Harel and Cole, “time to get into position.”

“Will they need a signal?” Varric asked.

“No,” she replied. “I’ll know.”

“Of course you will,” Solas muttered. “Why would you not?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Something you want to share, Chuckles?”

“No,” he said. His gaze held her and he stood, stiffly. “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn.”

 _Sure you did,_ Eirwen thought. Slowly, she held up a finger for Varric. Then, she tapped underneath her eye.

“You can see that far?”

She nodded. A soft lie, a white lie, not even really a lie at all. She could see that far, but Harel would still give her a sign of his own.

“Shit.”

With a swipe of her hand, she brushed excess grass from her pants. “Everyone ready?”

All around the group, they nodded. Until, finally, she glanced at Solas and he inclined his head. Heat lingered in his blue-gray eyes, in the way they coursed over her. Anger, perhaps, frustration barely suppressed. It emanated from each and every line of his body. _Let him be angry._ Jaw clenching, she turned away. _Nothing I can do about it._

Taking up a position at the edge of the tree line, she watched Harel and Cole disappear into the undergrowth. Of all three rogues, those two were the most skilled at moving silently within the forest. _If we were somewhere urban, I might’ve sent Varric instead._ It was unlikely that the Templars would’ve noticed him even if she did. _Still,_ her eyes narrowed as she focused on the meadow and the distant camp, _I need Varric watching Solas._ With all her potential problems and jumbled instincts, she had to trust the Great Fen’Harel could pick up her slack. If he were focused on protecting himself, then he’d be distracted from covering Iron Bull. _Varric is more than capable of serving as a distraction._

The miasma flickered in her eyes as they lifted to the blue sky. Overhead, a single raven lazily wheeled over the meadow. _Harel._ Cole and Harel were close, then.

A hand rested on the bark beside her head. “You cannot to continue to pretend everything is as it was,” Solas’s hard voice hung in her ears. She felt his warmth press on her back. He spoke in low tones, dangerously low. The sound did not carry and she doubted his lips had moved much, if at all. This conversation was for her alone.

“Why not?” Eirwen replied, her voice just as soft. She tilted her head, turning slightly as her ear grazed his cheek, and kept her gaze on the sky. “I think things are going well.”

“Attacking these Templars is foolhardy, _Inquisitor_.” His voice lingered. “We do not know the full effects of this awakening nor how it will affect your aptitude for combat.”

“Well,” she said. “There’s only one way to find out.”

His breath burned on her skin. “I see.”

“I’m not leaving these people to their fate,” Eirwen answered. “Not now. Not ever.”

“Then allow Iron Bull to take the lead,” he said. “Remain in the back with me, if only while you adjust.”

“Who will protect him while you lock the Templars down?” she asked. “I cover front, you’re rear guard. Those are our tactics.”

“Tactics change,” he replied. “We must bend to accommodate.”

“Between the two of us,” she said softly. “I’m fairly certain, I have the greater understanding of warfare.”

“Perhaps,” Solas said. “If only in experience.” His cool tone hid a greater heat, bundling and bunching beneath the surface. “However, your many deaths suggest you yet lack wisdom when it comes to understanding your own limits.”

“Oh ho.” Eirwen lifted her chin. “Now, the gloves come off.”

“Must you mock me when I express concern for your welfare?”

“Ah, yes,” her mouth yanked sideways into a sardonic smile. “If only I could be sure that _my_ welfare is truly what worries you.”

His fingers clenched on the tree bark. “You cannot begin to comprehend my motivations, nor my feelings, especially not in this.”

Eirwen watched the raven circle over the camp. “It’s far too complex for a monster to understand, I suppose.”

Solas snarled, upper lip twisting. Exasperated. A surprising turn, she thought. He rarely let his rage this near the surface. Then, he sighed. “You remain frustrating as ever.”

Across the field, the raven circled the Templar camp a second time.

“Get ready,” Eirwen said. “We can argue later.”

He loomed even closer, leaning so the touch of his cheek set fire to her ear. “That, Inquisitor, I guarantee.”

The harshness of his voice should not have sent a thrill up her spine. Yet, it did. A warm tickle tightened her stomach. “I look forward to it, _Solas_.”

He punctuated each word clearly, cleanly, and fiercely. “As. Do. I.”

She swallowed.

The raven circled again, once, twice, and then a third time. Descending lower and lower as it did.

She lifted a hand, indicated the field. “We’re up, Bull!”

“Finally!”

A quick step forward carried her out of the protective miasma and into the meadow.

Across the field, a horn sounded. Bellowing over waving yellow flowers, it rang through the trees. Birds launched into the sky, starlings, jays, sparrows and other smaller birds. Their wings beating as panic sped them higher into the sky.

Bull raised the horn to his lips and answered the challenge with one of his own.

Magic washed across her fingers, covering her in shining blue light.

As one, the wandering behemoths turned. The archers surrounding the camp took their positions, drawing arrows from their quivers. Laughing Templars dropped the last of the refugees on the ground, allowing them to scramble away in the dirt toward the trees.

 _Surprising,_ Eirwen thought. Her hand closed around the long, thick shaft of her staff and she drew it off her back. It rolled in her hands, managing to be both familiar and awkward. _Perhaps they think they can catch them later._ A small smile curved her lips. On that count, they would be mistaken.

“What do you think, Bull?” she called. “First to ten?”

A glittering green boulder flew overhead to collide with the first behemoth.

“If Solas and Varric don’t steal ‘em first!” Iron Bull shouted.

“We best not wait, then!”

Eirwen flicked her wrist out and focused on the Templar line, shooting forward in a snap of cold.

 

***

 

 _Maddening!_ Solas ground his teeth. Had she always been this unwilling to listen to reason? This ready to rush straight into the jaws of death? He suspected it was so. The crystal tip of his staff blazed, a volley of cold blasts slamming into Templar shields.

“Don’t worry, Chuckles,” Varric said. Bianca fired three rounds into the oncoming rush. “I’ll watch you, so just keep your focus on her Inquisitorialness.”

A grateful sigh escaped him. “Thank you, Varric!”

Across the meadow, she snapped through the incoming line in a blue streak. Swinging between armored warriors, encasing each in frost and ice, she spun out behind them. The shining yellow energy blade cleaved through the nearest warrior in plate.

He would be able to focus on little else. Drawing deep on the folding weave around him, he hit another Templar closing on Eirwen with a punch of energy purely drawn from the Fade.

“Hey!” The dwarf laughed. “Where would we be if she bought it, eh?”

The Templar stumbled, but did not go down. Instead, the man lifted his blade and launched himself forward.

Eirwen twisted away, letting his charge carry him past her.

He slammed right into his comrade.

Fire flared across her hands, rippled outwards. It coursed over the Templars armor in bright orange. Followed by screams and the stench of roasted flesh.

_She is slow._

Almost unnoticeable, each move just a little sluggish. The fraction of hesitance, as if some small confusion bound her up in a tangled web, crisscrossing between several different lifetimes worth of trained instincts and honed reflexes. The Inquisitor was always clear, forward, and driving in her attacks. _Neither caution nor fear._ His heart pounded. _No._ Blue flickered over his fingers and he recast barrier as hers failed. _This is confusion._

An entirely different problem, perhaps, but one just as deadly.

“Is it me?” Varric asked. “Or does she seem a little off today?”

“Hurry!” Solas shouted. “We must finish this quickly!”

 

***

 

Eirwen’s fingers clenched around her spirit hilt. The staff bulky and clumsy in the other, she lunged sideways. Fingers snapping, her body shifted out of phase.

The Templar’s blade swung through her.

Stepping forward, she went into him and paused. Body rippling as the spell ended. The torn fabric exploded outward and the world twisted inward, reshaped to accommodate.

The Red Templar shuddered. Blasted across the green field in a myriad of silver shards and a few pieces, twisted and reddened.

 _So slow._ Eirwen straightened and lifted her spirit blade, advancing to meet the next rushing attacker. When had she become so slow? “Another for me, Bull!”

“Nice one, boss!”

_Too slow._

She brought her staff up, catching the blade in the wood. _Wrong move._ With it unsupported by her second hand, the Templar slammed the haft down toward her head. Her frazzled barrier flickered, blue flashing across her skin as it burned down. _Never was much good with the polearms._

Another green boulder collided with the Templar’s side, knocking him away.

 _Solas._ She swallowed. Whirled in time to dodge another faceless Red Templar.

His blade stabbed forward, tip seeking to connect.

She slid back, her feet slipping into familiar patterns on the hard ground. Fire sparked on her fingertips again, except flames muddied with black smoke. _Powder. Miasma. Disrupt._ She flung it forward. The black cloud caught in his eyes and she hurled the spirit hilt in a flash of tiny sharpened blades made from crackling green energy.

The blades buried themselves in the Templar’s throat and he stumbled back, knees striking the dirt. In time to fall into another faceless warrior.

The hilt bounced off his face. It clattered to the ground.

_Fenedhis!_

Eirwen stumbled, barely avoiding a new Templar’s blade.

She had adjusted old training to a new body before, and she remembered that too. Whipping the staff up, she caught the incoming Templar in the throat with a thin curved blade. As he lunged past her, she rolled the staff back and cracked it across his helmet.

The crystal tip shattered, tiny shards flew high into the air like bits of bottle glass. Flashing green and gold as they arced above the field. The Templar went sideways, feet passing one over another. At last, knees hitting the grass, he collapsed among thin waving stalks of yellow flowers.

Sparks flashed over her fingers. Blue glinting off her nails as she attempted to recast her barrier. The power stalled inside the staff. Shivered and clotted in the fracturing wood. Eirwen stared dumbly at the object in her hand.

She’d broken it.

_I can cast without it._

Couldn’t she?

 _I don’t know._ Her heart pounded. The world seethed in front of her, awash in jittering adrenaline. Red lights danced. A hundred memories shouting over each other, body paralyzed. _I don’t know!_

“Inquisitor!”

An object spiraled through the air. Eirwen caught it, drawing it close. Her hand slid up a simple hilt, connected to a still sheathed blade. A sword. A small smile tucked in the corners of her mouth. _A sword._ As her fingers closed around it, the lingering hesitance slipped away. _Yes._ She remembered. She knew what to do with a sword.

 

***

 

“Inquisitor!” Harel yelled.

Solas watched Eirwen whirl, her broken staff falling from her hands. It hit the grass with a soft thud. One hand stretched out, catching the object Harel had thrown. _A sword._ A plain Inquisition longsword with no specialty marks, encased in a simple leather sheath. She stretched out a hand, seizing it. Her eyes lifted, a smile creasing across her lips.

And she vanished.

“Boss!” Iron Bull yelled.

“She’s gone again, Chuckles!” Varric fired another volley. His action followed by the soft chunk, chunk, chunk of arrows slamming through heavily armored targets.

Solas drew a boulder from the Fade and pummeled the nearest Templar. The man flew back, rolling on the ground, and lay still.

Then, she was back. Standing in the middle of the field’s far side and in the middle of the enemy camp, her fingers locked around the blade’s worn, leather wrapped hilt.

 _Surrounded on all sides by Templars._ Solas opened his mouth, ready to yell.

Light glittered through her translucent body, an eerie green glow shining from the crack in her hand. A small frown marred her brow and she seemed barely aware of the contingent turning toward her. The lumbering behemoth, the men with their shields tilted slightly down, their hands gripping their weapons as they leveled them toward her.

“Bull!” The word left Solas’ mouth in a rush.

“On it!” Iron Bull responded. Lowering his head, ready to charge.

The first Templar stepped up behind the Inquisitor, red lyrium glittering along the edge of the great sword. He raised it high. Ready to bring it down on their oblivious leader.

“No!” His fingers flashed, glow of blue magic spreading across his fingers. _Too far for me to reach!_

Her head lifted. Summer blue eyes gleaming like twin stars inside her head, her pupils alive with an inner green flame. Slowly, she drew the blade forth. It slid free in a blaze of light. Tiny runes flared beneath the cross-guard, shining on crude steel. Valefire licked down its edges, fanning across the surface in flickering green fire.

The Templar’s blade came crashing down.

Eirwen whipped hers up.

His angled down, swept, and went right through her. The ground rocked, exploded in a spray of red and brown. Tiny bits of grass and leaves flew into the air.

A single leather sheath hit the earth. Cleaved cleanly in two.

Light flashed through the Templar, ghostly green slashes and cuts. Faster than the eye could follow. His body jerked, silver armor rippling. He buckled. Then, the last passed through his neck and the helmet spun off into the clear blue sky. Bloody sprayed up out of the headless body, drifting down in a hot red mist.

Simultaneously, the second, left facing Templar and the third one on her right both detonated.

She shot through the Behemoth moving in behind them. Rotated her blade and slashed down, a diagonal cut. Like the others, the giant slid to the ground in two massive pieces.

Red bladed hands flashed, another Templar leaping forward.

Eirwen swung away. Her body shifting and turning with each lunge, with each cut. A minute turn here, another there, not bothering to lift her blade. She simply danced back, real body sliding away between the after images. Her bright blue eyes locked on her enemy. Each of the Red Templar’s hits landed, missed. Valefire glittered, flashed. The blade spun in her hand, a clean stroke carrying through above the right arm’s elbow. Then, the left.

Whipping up fast enough to halt an incoming overhead strike, it spun round and the enemy blade whirled away. She twisted, leg drawn up and driving out to knock the next Templar back.

Gone again as yet another enemy rushed through a lingering phantom.

Bull’s axe cleaved apart two more Templars.

“Andraste’s flaming ass!” Varric’s crossbow hung loose in his hand, lowered. He had forgotten to reload. “It’s like watching Broody work.”

 _It is easy to forget with so many ages passed,_ Solas thought. _Falon’din’s Chosen were an army all their own._

Eirwen reappeared at the back of the ranks. Her hand crackled. The vallaslin lighting with the same green color, shining bright as a beacon. Magic roaring through, drawn directly from the Fade. Channeled into the Dalish’s pale imitation of past brands. Her eyes blazing with eerie emerald fire.

_It must be second nature._

Perhaps, too much.

He had forgotten the Ena’sal’in’s usage of the vallaslin. The different blood brands, while binding them in service to a chosen master, also functioned as a form of spell work. Magic charged their blood, stored their magical energy, to better channel that power as they enhanced their bodies and, in some cases, could act as a way to link with each other or to funnel their strength into their master. He did not know the full litany of specialty brands one of Falon’din’s own warriors might have possessed, but it was many.

As a mage, Eirwen was both talented and strong. Her exposure to the Anchor had significantly increased her ability to draw power directly from the Fade. He’d been disappointed when she’d chosen a different specialty from his own. _A blessing now that I think of it._ Already she was well past the limits of what was safe to draw. With a greater understanding similar to his own, she would not have been able to pull herself back. _A mercy, truly._

The flow of that much power without the expected boundaries and safeguards in place to control it could leave her broken, burned out, or her mind shattered. Reliance on past instincts and learned behavior, all of it in a world where there were none prepared.

_It is almost over._

She lunged forward, ricocheting between the remaining enemies. Sprays of blood, harsh agonized screams, their lyrium corrupted bodies set aflame and burned from the inside out. Her sword barely flickering, each strike tight and confined before her. The blade tip sought and severed the weak points in the enemy armor. The ghostly flames took what remained of their skin, boiling them within the confines of their plate.

Eirwen came to a stop in the center of the meadow, amidst waving yellow flowers. Behind her, the Templars collapsed to a man. Their bodies flickering in fire, charred corpses lying still on the smoking ground. The sword hung loose in her hand. Head tilted back, flaming eyes on the overhead sky. Her mouth opened in a voiceless scream as the Fade’s green light exploded from her body in a single blinding flash.

It took Solas a moment to realize he was, in fact, yelling.

 

***

_Aliya stands alone before the great throne, all around the empty chamber echoes with whispers in the dark. Veilfire lights glitter and gleam with a soft green glow, highlighting the curved armrests and the black carvings lovingly shaped within an obsidian surface. Barely visible in the black upon black._

_Falon’din sits, one hand resting on his knee. The folds of a black cloak ripple about him, meld him into shadow. Silver touches his ears, hanging in chains and crystals which brush his shoulders, his long black hair hanging free about his tall cheeks and high forehead. Golden eyes watch her, lines about his mouth smooth, his expression impassive. His lips tilt toward the slightest of smiles, but his leonine irises reflect only sorrow._

_“You were correct,” she says, finally. Her cheeks burn. The memory of their last fight turns and tumbles in her mind. Angry yells over broken promises, his repetitions of love and trust. The reminders that he has only ever desired to protect her. He was right and she wrong, she so sure. All a lie. “Fen’Harel does not remember.”_

_“Ir abelas, da’vhenan,” Falon’din murmurs. “Your suffering brings me little joy.”_

_Her fingers dig into her palm, her gaze falling to the floor. “I was a fool.”_

_“Indeed.” He stands. Long robes sweep across the dais, loose open folds revealing a smooth, white chest. He steps forward, moving toward her in his usual, graceful manner. “Yet, it is a foolishness many have fallen to before.”_

_Her heart thuds._

_“You were deceived,” Falon’din says. “Made a pawn.” His hands settle on her shoulders. “Fen’Harel desires only what he might take from his siblings.”_

_It is sensible, Aliya thinks. The drunken godling, laughing as he opened the door less than half-dressed and sneering down at her to take the message. Not a shadow of recognition in his gray-blue eyes. She remembered his promises of unchanging devotion, passionately sworn beneath the boughs of the vhenadahl. Caerina had not believed him then, yet she had hoped. Seeing him in Andruil’s chambers, yes. She understood, it was only a diversion and a ploy to flip one valued servant._

_In Fen’Harel’s eyes, Caerina was only ever an object. Worth winning for what it gained him. Clever in its simplicity, perhaps. She ought to have been better prepared. “I was weak.”_

_“Yes.” Falon’din’s hand strokes her hair, resting her forehead against his cool neck. “We are nas’taron, you and I.” Lips brush her forehead and she hears the soft jingle of his jewelry. “Who better to understand than one who has loved you all these many lifetimes?”_

_Her arms slide around his back and he pulls her closer. “Then, you do forgive me?”_

_“Banal ema sul abelas, da'vhenan,” he said, his gentle voice rolls against her. “My initial anger came only as concern.” Cold fingertips find her chin and lift her eyes. “I know Fen’Harel well. He pretends to a higher calling and noble ideals, but has long been driven only by his basest instincts. He will lead you down the path to disappointment, as you become an easy sacrifice in service of his wiles. He remains among our number at Mythal’s sufferance only.”_

_Aliya swallows as his thumb traces her lower lip. Her stomach knots. It is not quite right, this feeling. Yet, it is not wrong either. There is none of the passionate fire she remembers finding in Fen’Harel’s arms, alive in each blush and brush of skin. Falon’din is dark, calm and cool. His love soaks in her flesh, drawing her down into his pool of shadows. She is stirred inside his darkness, found in a path she has walked so many times before. He is familiar and there is some comfort in that._

_“He has hurt you, my heart.” Energy flickers from his hands, a lazy touch undoing the buckles of her armor. All falls away before him as leather and metal clatter to the floor. Cold air prickles on her skin, her bared breasts press on the soft fabric of his robe. “I shall repay him in kind.”_

_She rises to kiss him._

_He halts her with a single finger, held against warm lips. “For whom were you made?”  
_

_“You,” Aliya whispers._

_His hand drifts down her back, mouth resting on her cheek. His breath brushes across her inner ear. “To whom shall you return?”_

_“You.” Her fingers trace the curve of his cheekbones. “I am yours, always. In this cycle never ending, it is only in your presence that I find comfort.”_

_“Yes,” his lips move against her skin. “Do not forget, da’vhenan.” He presses against her, hooks underneath her legs, and bends her back. A swept arm lays her out on cold stone. Black hair drapes around her cheeks and he rests a hand upon the center of her chest. Her brands glow softly in response. The early flush of pleasure races through her blood. “Now and forever, I shall come for what is mine.”_

The blade slipped free and fell away into the long grass. Eirwen swayed, tumbling sideways. The world passed around her in a blur. She landed, not on grass or soft earth, but in a pair of arms.

Warm and secure, they held her close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eirwen does a thing. Solas disapproves. Eirwen screws up the thing. Solas has a heart attack. That could probably have been the summary of this chapter. These two just love sniping at each other. It's pretty much "I want to be an adult, but I can't!". Snipe, snipe, snipe, "you drive me crazy!". They love it though, so why stop them? Eirwen can be as vicious as Solas when it comes to driving the verbal daggers deep. They'll figure it out, eventually.
> 
> This chapter was mostly just me having fun writing gratuitous fight sequences because I love gratuitous fight sequences and no one can stop me! Besides, fights are a great way to expose how everything isn't quite going to work out the way anyone wants it to. One of my favorite aspects of past lives is all the little stuff it screws up. I didn't want it to really change big things about Eirwen, like who she is and her trajectory, but I did want it to screw with the small stuff. Combat is probably not small, but if you've ever had to do something similar but different with your body (like fighting and dancing) where they don't harmonize then the small stuff becomes a big deal.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying my presentation of Falon'Din, whose name I will continue to insist on miswriting because I started it the other way and I'm too lazy to take it back. I may edit it and Fen'Harel later.
> 
> Falon'Din takes a fair amount of inspiration from both Hades and the Phantom of the Opera, though he's much more manipulative. I wanted to write Eirwen's relationship with him as complicated, much in the same way her relationship with Harel is complicated. They have such a long history between them, lifetimes of relationships had that affects a person. It's worth exploring, especially in relation to the one she shares with Solas/Fen'Harel.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed reading it! Special thanks to MissOwl and Umerue for their comments!
> 
> Elven:  
> Banal ema sul abelas, da’vhenan – You have nothing to be sorry for, little heart. (From FenxShiral’s tumblr)
> 
> Nas’taron – Twin soul. As opposed to Dirthamen, who is his nas’falon or his soul friend aka his soulmate/closest friend/best friend. (From FenxShiral’s Project Elven)


	18. The Man Climbs His Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the battle, Solas and Cole have an unsettling conversation.

Solas held Eirwen close. Knees dug into hard ground. Balanced on the balls of his feet, staff fallen into the grass. Two long trails cut through the meadow behind him, bits of ice and frost cracking off each thin blade and head of star-shaped yellow flowers.

Her head fell against his chest, orange bangs fluttering on her brow, pained eyes shut tight. The gleaming light of the Fade dissipated, flames receding and trailing off in tiny sparks of bright green. Her soft mouth tightened as she winced, rolling slightly to curl against him. One hand clenched on his chest. As if she knew where she was, as if she knew exactly who held her.

“Fen’Harel,” she whispered.

In the moment when she said his name, he knew he was lost.

He closed his eyes. One arm about her waist, the other around her back, he kept her small body supported with his knees. She would not fall. Resting his lips on her forehead, he inhaled the faintly crisp, burned scent of roasted blood and flesh from her hair. Orange strands stood out against pale, wan cheeks, he noted the whitening of her lips, the exhausted strain across her visage.

Anger fell away under cascading of relief. She was unharmed and would recover, in a few hours she would be well again.

A massive shadow fell across his shoulders, stretching out across the grass.

_Iron Bull._

“She gonna be okay, Solas?”

“In time,” he replied. “It is early yet, but it seems…” his voice trailed off. He knew what it was she had done, but the persona of Solas could only hazard guesses. “She channeled a vast amount of magical energy through her body, drawn directly from the Fade. I imagine only one with an extremely powerful will could come through such an experience unscathed.”

“Huh.” Bull grunted. “Sure. Sounds like our boss.”

He swallowed. Due to his prejudices, Iron Bull could be easily deflected via any discussion of the Fade or spirits. “I have seen such a thing done in my journeys through the Fade, yet I never imagined…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iron Bull muttered. “Too much mage stuff for me.” He watched the shadow of the great axe swung up to rest on very broad shoulders, its dark reflection rippling across the field. “Want some help getting her off the battlefield? Or you just going to hold her all day?”

“No.” Slowly, he straightened. She hung cradled in his arms, loose, almost relaxed. “Help Varric and Cole secure the refugees, I will look to the Inquisitor.” He let his eyes rise. “As of yet, there may be issues. I am the only other mage, it would best if I were to remain on hand to deal with them.”

The large qunari nodded. “Right.”

Solas doubted Iron Bull believed him, but against sound reasoning he had little ground to argue. Holding Eirwen gently, he stood. Her head rolled when he did, but he caught it lightly with a deft shift of his upper torso and brought her back to him. Turning, he picked his way through the mess of burned corpses and lingering fires. The green flames had turned to red and orange, the smoking ground littered with tiny embers but a path emerged.

Climbing a hill until he reached the trees, he paused to look back. Below, he could see Varric, Bull, and Harel working on the cage locks. Cole flitted between them, aiding with prepared medicines, and silently directing those still able to travel toward the paths that would take them to the nearest Inquisition camp or past a nearby patrol.

Turning back to the forest, he continued on.

Solas might have lain her down at the first tree he came across, but it was thin and spindly. The branches were wide, the leaves thin, tiny, and shaped like stars. Sunlight drifted through them, to be hot instead of warm. Rough bark cracked in spider web patterns. A colony of ants made their home in the small knot halfway up the trunk. Tiny black lines wandering down into the grass and back up again as they returned with nourishment.

No reason to disturb them, he decided. Eirwen was light in his arms and there was little reason to put her down.

_It would be best if she sleep this off._ Weariness troubled her, rather than damage. Her dreaming mind wandered at the edges of his perceptions, tumbling through its memories. _A working mind, then._ Unsettling, but not unusual and hardly necessary to act upon. There would be time to continue their earlier discussion later.

Her voice echoed through his mind. _I look forward to it._

He smiled. _As do I._

He moved on, picking over several other choices before finally settling beneath a tree with a large, smooth trunk. Its cooling branches with thick leaves provided the perfect temperature, neither too hot nor too cool. The bushes separate and grew away from the large tree, thus failing to crowd it as a resting place. The roots raced deep into the ground, their absence providing a smooth seat. The grass was soft, the dirt exposed minimal. He found the ecology tolerable. In absence of blanket or bedroll, a fine enough place to lay Eirwen down. Even so, he did not.

Instead, he rested her against his chest and allowed his body to cushion her. Angry as he was, frustrated as he might be, her comfort mattered more. He himself already well outside the bounds of what was acceptable, and all hesitance had since vanished. There was some relief in surrender, in allowing some small part of himself to let go and hold on to what he wanted. In realizing this moment, for all its troubles, trials, and tribulations, was indeed what he desired above all others.

Eirwen’s forehead rested against his neck, her soft hair stirred by each of his easy exhalations. He cradled her with his shoulder, arm curved across her waist, and let the pull of a turning world balance her in his lap. She always seemed to do so naturally. Holding her like this, for all he knew he shouldn’t, was the most ordinary thing in the world. Almost reflexive in reaction, simple, easy, he performed these actions without thinking, without consideration. The answer always clear, even if he did not realize the reason behind it.

His nose rubbed fine, short orange strands and he breathed deep. He relaxed against the trunk, his fingertips tracing the knotted length of the staff lain down on the grass beside him.

This was comfortable, warm. He the man who had only ever known moonlight, now found himself bathed in the sun’s rays. He believed had known warmth before, known light, yet he’d never known either quite so well as he knew them now. The woman in his arms held the promise of all his better days. A future, one he was forever determined to avoid contemplating. A bright spark in a bleak and fallen world, left neither quite so bleak nor quite so fallen. A reality which only grew more insistent, more demanding as the days continued on.

That she knew his secret now, that he knew hers, it meant they could continue to push their way through the darkness together.

_This cannot last,_ Solas thought. He would save her from Dirthamen’s foci, but even so other challenges loomed on the horizon. He had responsibilities to Mythal, to himself. Corypheus remained. Eventually, once the orb was recovered from the blighted Tevinter mage, he would be required leave. The suspicious acceptance by Iron Bull and Varric spoke well of the idea that his worst fears regarding Cassandra would not come to pass. He wondered if she might come with him. _Were she to aid me, would it be for my dreams? Or out of some misplaced loyalty to Falon’din?_ Could he even trust her if that were the case? _No._

There was still Falon’din to consider.

_All the more reason to put this aside,_ he told himself. _All the more reason to use this anger and frustration as a means to extract myself._

Yet he could not stop the image of Eirwen with flaming green eyes, gleaming vallaslin brands, tilting her head back toward the sky. Her mouth open, screaming as the raw power of the Fade roared through her fragile mortal form.

_Whatever I may like, I cannot simply walk away._

He had a responsibility to her, to keep these new skills from harming others.

_Magic the like this world has not seen used openly in five millennia._

Left unchecked, she could as easily be another Corypheus in the making. That had been before the vast knowledge of a Chosen was at her fingertips. Now, she was far more dangerous.

“Solas?”

He glanced up.

Cole stood a few paces away, his face half-hidden under the brim of his large hat.

_No,_ Solas thought. He straightened, arms tightening around Eirwen. _He is in shadow._

“Will she be well?”

“In time,” he said slowly. “She shall recover.”

“That is good,” Cole sighed. He walked forward, his footsteps swaying slightly. “She did so much.” The grass waved beneath his feet and he slipped over it, almost ghostly. He drew closer until he came to a stop before them. “With so much power racing through her, such a brilliant light.” Cole knelt and extended a hand, reaching out for Eirwen. “I’d hate it if she were damaged.”

“Do not.” Solas seized his wrist, gripped him tight as he dug his thumb into the bone. “Leave her be.”

The pain should’ve hurt Cole, but he did not respond. Instead, the boy’s eyes dropped and yellow irises studied the hand which gripped him. Distantly. Almost contemplatively. Then, his chin lifted. Lips twisted into a nasty smirk. An expression entirely unlike Cole, or any spirit of Compassion. A corrupted smile, one sharing a dark amusement, it was careless and untroubled. His head tilted. “Ah, brother,” Cole’s voice said, but it was Falon’din who spoke. “I was wondering when you might notice.”

He stiffened. “What have you done with Cole?”

“Is that it?” Cole’s head tilted. “No exclamations of surprise? No demands to know how I succeeded in my daring escape? I am disappointed in you. I expected, at least, some small amount of curiosity.” The smile curved wider and Cole relaxed back onto the balls of his feet. Relaxed, not rocked. An easy motion, so casual as to almost be unnoticeable. Except, on Cole, entirely wrong. “I see your long sleep in uthenera has dulled whatever wits you sought to retain.” He chuckled. “Though, you never were all that sharp to begin with.”

“You are still imprisoned, this is merely some whisper of your mind.” Solas leaned forward. “If you have harmed him, hurt him in any way—”

Cole’s white hand rose, flipped up, and cut him off. “Why would I do such a thing?” Falon’din asked. “The boy came to me.”

“So you claim.” Solas snorted. “Despite all your monstrous actions, you still present the image of the kind and benevolent figure. I should not be surprised, it seems your time within the prison has done little for you.” His arms lifted, repositioning Eirwen gently as he took hold of his staff. “Still, should you fail to return Cole or corrupt his purpose in any fashion, I will see to it your time in this world is ended as quickly as the body you’ve chosen to inhabit.”

“As I said, I will not harm him. I merely wished to borrow his mind as he sought to burrow into mine.” Falon’din tilted Cole’s head. “I am versed enough in my Chosen to understand, she cares for the boy. He, Sarina, and I shall make a charming family in time, I’m sure.”

“I would not be quite so certain,” Solas replied. “Damaging Cole in any way is inexcusable. If you wish to maintain favor, you will be required to safeguard him as he is. Leave him.” His eyes narrowed. “Immediately.”

“Come now, Dread Wolf,” Falon’din said with Cole’s voice. “You know as well as I that she performed much more heinous acts in our day. A few adjustments here and there to ease a spirit’s transition into the appropriate frame of mind are entirely forgivable.”

Solas gritted his teeth. Somewhere, behind those eyes, the real Cole lingered. He watched, bound down and unable to act as his spirit was superseded. _Possessed._ There was some question of, in his weakened state, whether or not he could force Falon’din out. _Not without harming Cole or perhaps even killing him in the process._ “Is that what you have done?”

“No.” Cole’s body laughed. “I have patience.”

“Then you have miscalculated,” Solas snapped. “Eirwen is not Sarina.”

“Ah,” Cole’s head swung sideways with a smugly satisfied smile, “but she is.”

“She is a new woman, a new person,” Solas said. “Grown free from the chains you would use to bind her down. These modern Dalish may have their limitations, but they have gotten one thing right. They do have some ability to make choices of their own, to determine themselves. They are not bound to worship at your altar!”

“As usual, Dread Wolf, you declare victory quickly,” Cole’s voice said. “Yet, what is victory without understanding? How can one control the battlefield if they’ve no taste for its ebb and flow?”

“I recall succeeding against you easily enough.”

“Ah, yes, your little rebellion.” Falon’din tilted Cole’s head sideways. “Always your judgement remains clouded, just as you remain limited by this linear concept of time.” His lips twitched. “And why would it not be?” He chuckled. “You’ve known nothing else.” Cole’s hand lifted and he pointed to the sky. “Yet, the cycle of souls is as natural as the seasons’ passage. Life and death, whether naturally ended or unfortunately disrupted, whether we find sleep or true death, this concept of mortality is an unusual animal. One might think it leaves space for new beginnings but, if left uncorrected, the same stories merely play out time and again. With new faces, perhaps, and new forms, yet forever constant.”

“And you would change those stories to suit your whims,” Solas snapped. “As always, your arrogance knows neither boundaries nor limits! It is the height of all you are!”

“What of you?” Falon’din asked. “Do you not seek to change the story? Or will you continue to chase that ball of yours blindly down its hole?” He held out a hand. “Perhaps, when you are finished, you will return what is mine.”

“If either of us must be accused of taking, then we must start with you.” Solas leaned forward. “Tell me, _brother_ , was I the one meant to meet your Chosen in that winter grove?” His eyes narrowed, holding Eirwen just a little closer and a little tighter. She had yet to stir, yet to move, yet to give any sign of waking. “Is that perhaps why you find yourself so uneasy? That without intervention, this story may finally right itself?”

“You have only ever been a disappointment,” Falon’din replied. He smiled. “Time and time again, it is you who leaves her broken hearted.”

“You know nothing of me, nothing of my motivations,” Solas growled. “If it is true, if you did steal, then this time will be different. As you and Dirthamen say, it is understanding that leads to victory.”

“When all you touch fractures, dies upon the vine?” He laughed. “You are so confident, Dread Wolf. You know not what her original fate was.”

Solas paused.

“Was it happiness?” Cole’s brows lifted smoothly. “Or tragedy? Betrayal? An unfulfilled life followed by a less than fulfilling death.” His lips curved. “The skein weaves many webs, brother. Those bound together in its knots and tangles have no more guarantee of happiness or greatness than any other.”

_He could be lying,_ Solas thought. Even if he were not, it mattered little. He was too far gone to give up now. _I merely must ensure I am in the best position possible._ His hand clenched around his staff. “I suppose then, you can.”

“I have learned well that such a thing is not born, it is molded.” Cole’s hand lifted, wrist rolling over. “Through time and through repetition, brother, we find the promise of the new.” He held his palm up. “I took only that which you do not make use of and did not miss. I provided those lost and lonesome spirits with options. Showed them a better path, so they in their own wisdom might choose.”

“Choose, perhaps,” Solas replied. His mouth pulled tight. “Or do you instead bind them down as you manipulate their minds until they may only see the path you wish them to. They choose you only because they have or know nothing else!”

“In time, you would only have discarded her as you are wont to do.” He leaned forward. “I have protected her from you as is my right.” Cole’s hand slipped from his grip, passing over Eirwen’s sleeping face. No pull of magic, no gathering tendrils, no subtle actions, Falon’din had done nothing. “I am the one who knows her, Dread Wolf. The one who loves her. And, despite all your pathetic fumbling, the only one who ever will.”

Solas frowned. He could not deny there was some truth to Falon’din. He believed he knew Eirwen, yet she continually surprised him. He had believed he’s known Caerina, but she had done the same. The others were mysteries. _Beneath the weight of their shared history, Falon’din is correct._ He did not know her nearly as well. Better to steer the conversation to safer ground. “Do you plan the same for Cole?”

Cole’s hands rested on his knees, tightening. “How is this any different from what he sought to do? He came to me, sought to adjust my mind and change my past with a few misplaced memories.”

“The difference is intent! Cole only wishes to ease burdens, to help others!”

Falon’din chuckled. “Ah, I see, then, good intentions are all that define the difference between a right act and a wrong one? It is interesting that you believe so, brother. There is no reason for us to be enemies. I too have only ever desired to help others.”

Solas snorted. “Your actions are forever self-serving. You speak one way and act another, you are hypocrisy incarnate.”

“I say nothing that is not true,” Falon’din said. “Where you would make a liar of an honest man, I sought to help my fellows. I gave them a better life and a better path. My followers were happy and content, I only ever hoped to bring the same to the rest of Elvhenan. Dirthamen understood, as Andruil came to in time.”

“I suppose that is why you and Dirthamen orchestrated the murder of Mythal?” Solas’ upper lip twisted. “Because you desired a better world?”

“Ancient growths must be cut as the old makes way for the new. How might a sapling grow out from under the mother tree’s great shadow if their parents never age? Never fail? Never fall to illness? One must end and step away so the other might live.” With a flick his wrist, Cole stood. “Her time was past.”

Solas swallowed.

“Our perspectives differ simply in this, Dread Wolf. You have never gardened, never nurtured, even as you seek to define which plants might live and which must die. Yet, how does one know which is the flower and which the weed? Which must be cut down so the other might grow? One might say either or both. With no understanding of ecology, the damage the gardener does to his garden is monstrous.” Cole’s hands spread. “Wild and overgrown, no order. Only chaos.”

Solas felt his mouth pull sideways. Not a smile, not a grimace, in his lap Eirwen stirred slightly. Shifted. Her forehead creased by uneasy dreams. She was close to waking. He could lay his hand on her forehead, keep her sleeping just a bit longer. Cradle her safely in his consciousness. _If I do, will it make me no better than Falon’din?_

“Unlike myself, your idealism grew to naiveté. You came to believe the right perspective would naturally occur on its own within those who followed you. As if greatness of Elvhenan came to exist purely by chance.” A patient smile crossed Cole’s mouth. “I do not expect you to understand. Fashioning the world you wish to see requires work.” Cole’s eyes dropped to Eirwen. “Fashioning all you wish, requires both effort and time.” Then, his eyes rose again, chin lifting high enough so his gaze fixed Solas squarely. “For all your potential, you have ever been a lazy student.” He spread his hands. “Squandering your gifts upon pursuits poorly fashioned, leaving your dreams to languish and your garden overgrown. Returning only to watch them sputter and die. The weeds have taken control.”

“Much as I have enjoyed our chat,” he said softly. “The time has come for you to leave.”

“And if I find I am not quite ready to go?” Falon’din asked.

Magic rolled down his hand to spark across his fingers. “Then, I shall force you out.”

“Do so.” Falon’din laughed. “What you said of me also applies to yourself. The boy must be safeguarded, protected at all costs. She will not forgive you, either.”

Solas lifted his staff. If he must choose between Eirwen’s safety or Cole’s like, then he already knew the answer. The decision regrettable, but the world mattered more than both. Tendrils of magic gathered around his hand.

Eirwen’s eyes flew open, sat up in his lap. Her gaze not on him or his hand, but on Cole, her entire body tense. “Nae!”

Cole grinned and he drew back his fist, a strange black light snaking around it.

A fingers pierced up through Cole’s chest, spearing out from the entry point at his back. Ghostly, shivering and shimmering with vaguely golden light, it stretched forward. Golden lightning cracked through Cole’s body, snapping from his eyes. Then, the hand receded and Cole slumped to the forest floor.

Harel stood over him, shaking out his hand.

“Harellan,” Cole’s voice whispered.

“Yes,” Harel replied. An easy smile twisted on his mouth. “I am as I was made.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to cut this chapter in half, especially since the other half isn't even finished yet. Falon'Din throws a monkey wrench into everything, I swear. I dunno, this story has been a bit of a wild ride for me. Constantly throwing my brain up for loop after loop, but that happens sometimes. The inmates may be running the asylum but, at least, I still control where they go.
> 
> I hope.
> 
> Anyway, I'm glad you're all still enjoying the story! All kudos and comments are appreciated. Really. They make my day!


	19. With the Guidance of the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harel gives Cole some guidance. Eirwen and Solas fight it out some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter contains some sexual content.

Solas stared at Harel.

“Cole!” Eirwen exclaimed. She scrambled off his lap. Moved to where Cole had fallen, one hand moving beneath his chest as she helped him off the grass and to his knees.

Cole trembled, his knees tugging up to his chest. “He’s gone.”

“You are certain?” Solas asked.

“Falon’din has abandoned this body,” Harel replied, his voice utterly smooth. “For now.”

“You should have killed me,” Cole whispered.

Eirwen’s arm went about Cole’s shoulders and she pulled him close. Her nose pressing into the top of his floppy hat, the brim creasing on her neck. One hand passed down his back, gentle and soothing. Then, holding him tight, Solas felt her fall back to him. Eirwen held Cole tightly, while he held them both.

His heart hammered. Had Falon’din been right? Even considering the possibility went against everything she might believe. Would she see him as a monster now if he admitted that he had?

Her head rested on his shoulder as his hand itched at her waist. Her gaze lifted and she found his eyes. _You should’ve._ Her voice slid across the surface of his thoughts with a gentle flick. _I’m glad you didn’t._

Burying the wave of relief threatening to overtake him, Solas let his mouth pull tight. His fingers moved up to collect her waist, resting on her hip. _You have recalled how to speak mind to mind._

He felt her amusement ball into orange, it glowed warmly. _I’m a devotee of Falon’din and Dirthamen,_ she said. This time, he felt the sardonic twist in her words as she named them. _It’s second nature._

_Not to everyone,_ he replied.

She lingered now on the edges of his perception, a light touch. Respectful, he decided, of his barriers. She might have shoved or pushed against them, attempted to burrow deeper instead of waiting for him to find her thoughts. Those who were new to mind contact often did. They yelled, stamped, and shouted. Their emotions free and uncontained. That it only bled in around the edges now suggested the sluggishness of one reacquainting with an old skill, rather than acquiring a new one. No amount of natural talent could compensate for such deft control. If anything, the more talented one was then the louder they usually were.

Her thoughts winged at the edges, the butterfly flitting low across the raging river as it danced untouched by rushing water or leaping spray.

A sign of talent, perhaps, but trained and with millennia of practice rather than a decade or two. A skill put to use regularly, adjusted, modified, and understood. One to be slipped back into, rather than written wholesale.

Falon’din’s comment of the necessity for greatness to be molded, instead of born raced through his mind. Was this what he meant?

This light conversation coupled with her display of prowess on the battlefield suggested what happened when death became a learning experience rather than a finite destination, a madness in itself. To live with no hope of reaching in uthenera, no hope of ever locating an end or rest. To return to the world again and again, to discover all those friendships destroyed or lost, finding either the same one or different, discovered again only to have old hopes shattered on the rocks. With those she loved moving on, treating her as someone new and even hated, as he had when Aliya knocked upon his door. _I was angry, still angry, I think. She was not Caerina._

His eyes slid over hers.

So much hid behind those warm summer irises now, yet the simplicity in trust as she opened some small portion of her mind to him. For one taught that across so many lifetimes that secrets were to be hoarded, whose minds were assuredly labyrinthine in their format, filled with a myriad of hidden corridors and trap doors, to be granted any access at all was miraculous.

Yet, she reached for him. It was hesitantly, the thoughts held out cautiously as she slid them into his hand. She did so easily, the small ball of feeling and memory treated no differently than her own fingers. For all their anger at each other, his at her recklessness, it was an offer of trust intense in its vulnerability.

He watched an eyebrow rise.

_Does she understand?_ He wondered. He had to trust she did.

Her eyes slipped away, head lifting off his shoulder to turn toward Harel. “Ghi’len,” she said. Out loud, he realized, and not through thought. “Serannas.”

“I am Dirthamen’s creature, da’mi,” Harel replied. “Not Falon’din’s. There is no prohibition against striking a Creator that is not my own.”

Eirwen laughed. Then, she swallowed. “Oh,” she whispered. “That hurts.”

Gingerly, Solas rested a hand on her ribs.

She glanced back to him. Eyes narrowing slightly, she exhaled a slow breath.

Her mind slid from his grasp, warm emotion dissipating in his hands. The doors shut, the walls settling back into place. She smiled, but it belied her nervousness. The space where she had been was empty, as if she’d never been. A mind only slightly awakened, unskilled in non-verbal magical communication as any within this new world. It was exactly as it had been before.

She did not trust him enough to maintain constant contact.

_I should be grateful, she has not pushed._ Instead, he was irritated. His hand clenched on his knee. _Small steps._ There was much within his mind he would not wish her to see and, for one who had so many lifetimes of training within both Dirthamen’s and Falon’din’s temples, it would be all too easy for clever mental fingers to slip past his safeguards. _Beyond their combat capabilities, the Chosen specialized the magic of the mind._ Not quite skilled as the likes of Harel and Dirthamen’s other high priests, perhaps. Yet, out of all the others, they were a close second. _After all,_ he thought bitterly, _how else could Falon’din guarantee the total loyalty of his followers than to regulate their minds, their emotions, and their thoughts?_

Best to keep her out entirely.

_I must focus on Cole._ Ensure Falon’din did not return.

Slowly, Eirwen placed her hands on the young man’s shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault, Cole.”

Cole’s head snapped around, large bony hands gripping Eirwen’s tight. “It was! It was! I opened the door, so he came in. I could have… _he_ could have hurt you! Both of you! He did hurt you.” His head hung. “He did and I couldn’t do anything to stop it!”

“I know,” Eirwen said softly. “I know.” She held Cole against her, let his shakes escape to her shoulder in small wracking sobs. “It must have been very frightening.” Her hand brushed over his head, pushing back the hair beneath his bangs. “It still wasn’t your fault.”

He sighed. _It is best not to push._ He had to trust she would reopen contact in time. _Do not ask for too much, too fast,_ he cautioned himself. For all the closeness it assured, there were aspects of his mind and his past he did not desire her to see. _I am sure it is the same for her._ “The Inquisitor is correct,” Solas said. “You could not know what Falon’Din would do.”

“I did!” Cole yelled. “He is dark and dangerous, I knew it. Now, he’s inside me. Somewhere. Tempting, twisting, a connective tissue that burns and bleeds, alone in the dark. He won’t touch me, doesn’t need me, but through me he touches _you_.” His eyes fixed on Eirwen. “I just wanted to understand! To help! He made my helping something else, darker and dirtier. Tried to use me to slip inside your mind. Twist you. Fix you. He wants you to be like him, but you won’t be.” His head hung. “It makes him angry.” Cole shivered. “He is so terribly angry.”

“You must forget him, Cole!” Solas said. “You must let it go! Without a tether, he will remain unable to reach you. The pain will connect you to him, you must cut away the links.”

“Forget,” Cole said slowly. “Yes. I could forget.”

“Ever the dramatic.” Harel knelt, one hand clapped Cole on the shoulder. “You’ve suffered a terrible thing, boy.”

Solas watched Cole glance at the shorter elf and as Harel offered Cole a strangely sympathetic smile.

“However, this situation isn’t as grave as the old one makes it out to be.”

Eirwen snorted, thumb brushing across her nose.

“Is it not?” Solas snapped. “If he does not do it now, then it will quickly become too late!”

Dark eyes slid sideways and Solas saw Harel’s smile tug up one side of his face, but he continued, “Nor are measures quite so extreme.”

“Solas is wise,” Cole said. “But you are wise too, in your way. Unsafe, dark, the same kind of dark, like the one inside me. Twisted. Corrupted. Perverted.” His head tilted, as if he were seeing Harel for the first time. “You are not in your original shape.”

“I was once very much like you,” Harel said.

Cole nodded. “Broken, beaten, they dragged them to the tower and bound them down. Their hands bent, twisted, and remade into a mocking echo. Two into one then split into two. Harel. The betrayer who betrays his own. You were hidden in the voices.” His head tilted sideways. “I didn’t see it before.”

“Inquisitor!” Solas snapped.

“Cole is right,” Eirwen said. She lay a hand on his chest. “This isn’t Harel’s original shape.”

Solas exhaled heavily. “As ever you take his side!”

“I’m on Cole’s side,” she replied.

He glanced down at her, at her slight frown, her pursed lips. His irritation niggling at the back of his mind, his jaw tightening.

“I can teach the boy sever the ties that bind,” Harel said. “It must be done quickly, before Falon’din takes root. Forgetting will not stop him from seeking again and it will not stop the boy from returning.”

Solas sighed. There was some logic there, even if he did not want to admit it. “It will be an involved process and it will not be easy.

“To undo a Creator’s will is no easy thing,” Harel said. “Yet, it can be overcome if you are strong enough.”

“Says the one who has not yet managed to undo his own binding!” Solas snapped.

Harel’s shoulders lifted in a bird shrug.

“Can you, Ghi’len?” Eirwen asked.

“If the boy is willing, then it should be fairly simple.”

“I want to try,” Cole murmured.

Solas leaned back against the tree with another sigh. His eyes moved to Eirwen, watching as she helped Cole to his feet. If he could trust Harel to take care of Cole, then he could return to the larger problem. _If he does not, then perhaps I will figure something out._ “Very well, Cole,” he said. “If that is your decision.”

She glanced at him. From the glint in her eyes, he could tell she thought the same.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright.

They were both silent as Harel steered Cole away into the woods.

He doubted either would go far.

Eirwen’s arms crossed over her chest and her chin lifted.

Solas studied her for a moment. “Are you well enough to continue our earlier discussion?”

She took a step closer, her lashes narrowing. Her lips twitched. “If you are.”

He smiled politely and inclined his head. “Then,” he said. “Let us begin.”

 

 

***

 

“The question is will you remember,” Harel said.

“Solas wants me to forget,” Cole said. “It is one way.”

“What do you want?” Harel asked.

“I… don’t know,” Cole replied softly. “I never thought to ask.”

“Only a spirit exists in certainty, untroubled by questions or doubt,” Harel replied. His gaze lifted toward the afternoon sky and the sun drifting toward the western horizon. “The rest of us have to ask.”

He glanced at Harel, the shadow flickering on the edges of perception. The darkness frightened him. It sat beside him, whispering out screams of torment and pain. Thousands upon thousands, hundreds of thousands, the numbers ran beyond counting. So many screams, so many burdens, the weight of it all dragging him down. It lay underneath the cool stillness of water, an undisturbed surface.

“I am a spirit,” Cole said.

The elf glanced at him. One eyebrow lifted slightly.

“You are a monster,” he added. “It is what you are.”

“It is what I became,” Harel replied. “Whether one defines the choice as one I made in order to save my people, or the choice that was made for me when I was captured and dragged to the Southern Elves’ city in the sky, matters little. I was once something else, something clearer and cleaner, just as you were.”

“You…” Cole trailed off. “You were a monster, then.”

“Your original observation was correct, I am a monster and I will remain as one.”

He blinked. The mind slid open, just a fraction, and the emptiness of his senses filled. What Harel said was the truth. “I am trying not to be.”

“A worthy goal by itself,” Harel said. “Many monsters never seek to be anything more that what they have become, never recognizing their own monstrosity. The actions which lead them there.”

“You do, though. You see.”

He spread his hands. “I’ve had nothing but time, to think and to reflect.”

“You are harellan, the false friend and the trickster. The blade in the shadows. The Dalish think it applies just to Solas, but it applies to you too. The Inquisitor believes you are her friend, even though you’ve hurt her. You still plan to hurt her, but also to help her…” the truth faded out, disappearing into the distance like he were running inside an envy demon’s mind. It expanded, on and on. He ran and ran, never any closer to his destination or the quiet pain lurking somewhere inside. He wasn’t. In Harel’s mind, he ran in place. Unmoving, except when the other wished him to. “And you want to help me too.” He frowned and focused. The words were there, slipping in and out of the shadows. Vague, then sharp, then distant and dimming. “Save me from becoming like you.”

Harel smiled.

“Falon’din is angry with you.”

“I expect he is.”

Cole frowned. “He thinks of…” No, that wasn’t right. “He was.” His eyes widened. “He is gone!” The dark dividing tendrils that connected backwards into the Fade hadn’t vanished. Yet, they connected back to nothing. Hung loosely against his back. Fell away. “I can’t feel him now.”

Harel’s head tilted, hands resting at the base of his spine.

“You…” Cole trailed off. “It was you, wasn’t it? You severed them.” He frowned. “When?”

“Just now.”

“When I came inside your mind,” Cole whispered. “You were inside mine. I didn’t feel you.”

Harel smiled slightly, but it was neither twisted nor unkind. “As you do to the many all around you.”

“It is strange.” Cole tilted his head. “I was one way, now I’m another. Neither twisted, nor turned, back to where I was before.”

“Not quite,” Harel said. “I imagine Falon’fen could do the same, were he not so distracted. He remembers Falon’din as he was, not as he is and it causes him to apply more pressure than necessary. Your Inquisitor might have, were she not so staunchly opposed on principle.” His smile widened. Fond. “She has ever been like that.”

“Yes.” Cole’s head went the other way. “She does not like others in her mind.”

“With good reason,” Harel said.

Cole nodded. “She understands what it feels like to be changed, to live without privacy. Her thoughts scrutinized.”

He blinked and slid along the line, drawing back toward her. Old pain and old fears, submerged beneath the waves. Left with no air, no room to breathe.

_The hands upon her eyes, a tiny child barely able to toddle standing in a dark room. The mat is cold beneath her feet. An old warrior behind her, taking her wrist. His hand closes hers into a fist. Her arm extended, other hand twisting her hips, one foot holds her tiny toes down and keeps her from stumbling. The first punch._

_She focuses on standing, staying still. Young, newly developed muscles shivering with effort. Brow creased, attempting to concentrate though she does not understand why. This will make the teacher happy, she thinks. He will smile. If he is happy, then she will be too._

_She knows the shadow sits on the dais. Chin resting on one hand, watching her with glittering golden eyes. A throne usually left empty. He only comes when there is something to say. The sight of him leaves her stomach in knots._

_The trainer is afraid. His fingers tremble on her skin._

Harel’s hand rested on his shoulder and yanked him back. “My actions will not stop you from reaching back or reconnecting. If you do, Falon’din will return through you. Only you can keep it from happening, Cole.”

“How?” Cole asked.

“Tell me about the pain of those you love,” Harel said. “Tell me about Falon’fen.”

“Solas? His pain is like a mountain,” Cole said. He glanced at Harel. A dark specter, he was like a shadow brushed across the grass and tree. A stain the world pulled around and away from. “It is heavy and weighs him down. Bent over by it, but busy pretending he isn’t. Stiff backed and proud, he stands tall. Bright and brilliant, shining in the dark.” His mouth twitched. “The mountain ever on his back.”

“Without a counterweight, he will fall,” Harel said.

“Yes.”

“And the Inquisitor?”

“The Inquisitor?” Cole’s head tilted. “Her pain is… it’s a field full of stars. Weighted and heavy, yet distant. Not dim or dulled, still vibrant, alive. It hurts and it hurts, but the pain is acceptable. Accepted. It whirls about and around, like daggers in the dark, spinning and turning, maintained on her axis. She keeps it steady. The whole of the sky balanced upon her head, and she keeps walking. Hopes and dreams in loss and sorrow. Her hand forever stretching out to help, to take in more.” His head dropped. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Harel said.

“She reaches into the fire and doesn’t pull back when it burns,” Cole murmured. “Why does she do that?”

“Because she knows what is to be burnt,” Harel replied. “If one allows a few fires to stop them, they never get anywhere.”

He nodded. It made sense. “She doesn’t need me,” Cole said. His eyes widened. “It hurts, but she doesn’t need me to help her. She wants me near, but doesn’t need me! That’s why she doesn’t like me inside her mind. She doesn’t want me to fix her. She already fixed herself.”

“Yes,” Harel said.

“Is that how you stop?” Cole asked.

“Is that why you would?” Harel countered.

“No,” Cole said. “I still want to help, even if she doesn’t need me.”

“Then, you must discover what kind of help she wants.”

“How do I do that?” Cole asked. “If I don’t go inside her mind?”

“Watch.” Harel’s smile tilted on his lips. “Reflect.” His dark irises were deep and unmoving, yet no longer quite so terrifying. “Ask.”

Slowly, Cole nodded. He could not quell the feeling of fear Harel’s presence left in him nor deny the danger he represented to the Inquisitor. He would take her hand and lead her down a path to the voices which devoured. A path necessary to walk. Still, he was recognizable now. A fitted shape. Locatable. Strangely wise. Wise in a way that was different from Solas. Just as cold. Colder.

“You are sad, though.” He lifted his head. “Not sorrow in suffering. A blunt, dull ache. You want to be forgiven.” He frowned. “Don’t you? Is that what you’re looking for?”

The elf smiled. “For me, forgiveness is not possible.” He looked up at the sky, his eyes on the sun as it passed over the treetops and sank toward the western horizon. “It is already too late.”

 

***

 

“Yet you believe _Harel_ is better able to aid Cole than I?”

“Yes!” Eirwen shouted. “Because between us all, he has the best background to understand and to empathize!”

Solas seized her. “You trust him more than you do me!”

“This is not about you!” Eirwen snarled. “This is about Cole! Harel is not of Elvhenan, he was captured during and taken from the Dawn Lands! He and Cole have similar origins! Similar spirits! He understands Cole in a way neither you nor I do! He can help him!”

“Have I not spent my life studying both spirits and the Fade?” he demanded. “Is my expertise to be so readily discarded because an old teacher’s outlook is more appealing?”

“No!” She glared at him. “I just don’t believe shoving it down, smoothing it out, and pretending it didn’t happen is the solution!”

“Cole is a spirit of Compassion!” Solas growled. “He is not like you or me, he is capable of both forgiving and forgetting. If he does not then this will corrupt his purpose! Make him less than he is meant to be!”

“Or more!” She swallowed. “Even if he forgets, it won’t change what happened.” Her lips pursed. “It just makes it more likely to occur again.” Studying him, the cut of his cheeks, and the tightness around his eyes. The hurt bleeding at the edges of a tightly confined mind. She narrowed her eyes. “He can forgive without forgetting.”

Since she’d awoken from the prison, she’d tried to keep the old skills safely segregated away. Not touch the underlying, empathic self and diverge from the patterns her thoughts preferred to order themselves in. Remain locked behind the simplistic wall of willpower which guarded her mind from outside invasion, rather than stretch outside its confines to interconnect with the thoughts and feelings of those around her. Even simple surface scans were to be avoided, as they constituted a gross invasion of personal privacy.

Even so, by channeling so much power through herself and categorically forcing stifled instincts to reawaken, she now couldn’t stop it from leaking out.

“Inquisitor!” _Eirwen_. “Please!” _I am here._ Solas leaned forward. “You are relating him to your own experiences.” _Allow me to aid you._ “Yours are not universal!”

“And yours are?” The combat abilities, the practical utility spells, the martial training, those were easily accessible and understandable. However, the more subtle skills, mental manipulation, physical manipulation, coercion both verbal and mental, those represented all modern fears of mages. _Even amongst the Dalish._ The Dalish who wished for all the skills and secrets spiraling inside her mind. _Even Solas wouldn’t want me inside his mind._ She swallowed again, tongue sluggish in her mouth. _If I’m not careful, I’ll fall right into his eyes._ She would never climb out again. “Is that it? We should all just do what you say and forget everything else? Because you know best!”

“Trust in my experience!”

“Trust?” she asked. _I touched your mind because I could, I spoke to you because I could! Because I wanted to!_ “Or follow blindly?” Her thoughts clashed with the mental barriers she routinely used to rein them in tight. _I opened my mind to you out of choice!_ “Are my experiences allowed a say in my decisions, now?” She stepped closer. “Have you ever thought I might know Harel better than you?”

He sighed. “You know Harel, but do not know all his motivations nor the orders he may be working under. Whatever he did for Cole, he is tied to both Dirthamen and Falon’din. You cannot trust him.”

“Not completely, no,” she said. “He won’t hurt, Cole.”

“If he had not just done so, I would find your argument more convincing!”

“If you offered up any reasoning beyond ‘because I say so’, maybe I would have!” Her eyes narrowed. “Besides, Harel didn’t hurt Cole! He can still help him! If you didn’t think so, then you wouldn’t have let them go together!”

She watched as Solas stiffened. His jaw tensing, tightening, neck bulging, his hand squeezing her arm.

She had him on the edge. _I’m in too deep to stop now. “_ Are you just so opposed to any action you can’t control that it drives you mad?” Eirwen demanded. “You just want him to wipe the slate clean! Over and over, purging himself of any experience except the positive ones.” She leaned in, stepped forward as he hauled her in. “He’ll be stuck, motionless, forever the same. Never to grow. Never to change. He won’t learn anything!” She lifted her chin. “Cole is stronger than that!”

“You do not know that for certain!”

“I believe in trying!”

“It is always about that, is it not?” Solas held her fast, fingers wrapping more tightly around her upper arm. Strength of one arm yanked her to him, until their noses almost touched. His eyes narrowed, brown lashes framing darkened gray-blue eyes. A pair of thunderstorms swirling inside his head. “You must always push against the limits, never content to stay where you are! You live no regard for patience, spending each and every day careening toward the nearest cliff. Whether you leap, whether you fly or fall, it is only a heedless, headlong, _pointless_ race toward self-determined destruction.” He drew her even closer. “One day, you will not come back.”

“This isn’t about Cole,” she breathed. “You’re angry with me.”

“Why would I not be?” he snapped. “Your recklessness shall be the death of you!”

Eirwen stared at him. Her lips pinched, teeth grinding. “You’re talking about the battle?”

“What else would I be speaking of _da’len_?” The emphasis on child was harsh and insulting. “Surely not your attempts to convince all the world that no harm has been done.”

“I knew exactly what I was doing!”

He snorted. “Harel is correct on one count. You have all the memories of your past selves with none of the training necessary to use their skills safely in this world!”

She rolled her eyes. “I took a chance, that’s all.”

“You channeled power through your vallaslin,” he said dryly. “Knowing full well that these,” a finger planted on her forehead, a warm fingertip tracing the lines, “are base reflection only. They cannot handle the full brunt of what you would store in them.” He frowned. “You think I do not know you.” He hauled her in tighter. “Yet now I understand you better than ever before, Inquisitor. You are headstrong, heedless, and your inability to admit your current deficiencies nearly cost you your life.” He leaned even closer. “As it has so many times before! As it might have with Andruil!”

She lifted her chin. “You think I should just sit back and let you protect me?”

“Varric, Iron Bull, Cole, even Harel, and, most importantly, myself, we are all here to do exactly so!”

“No!” Eirwen shouted. “You’re here to fight with me!” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not some precious cargo who needs to be segregated off the front lines, locked up until you need a rift sealed! I am a warrior.” She stepped toward him. “I became confused today because all my skills competed with each other, my instincts pulled me in eight different directions.” His chest was warm against her arm, his grip loosening about her wrist. “Yes, it was dangerous but I did what I could!” Her heart pounded. “Instead of yelling about what I should do or how I should hide behind you, help me!”

He paused. She watched his gray-blue eyes flick over her, studying the planes of her face. His grip tightened around her arm. The slight shift in his throat as he swallowed. An aged variant of an expression she’d seen so many times before when he was younger, wilder, and less cautious. When he was caught, when he hadn’t thought his plan all the way through, when he required a few moments for last minute calculations.

Eirwen sucked in a slow, deep, calming breath. “We do this together,” she said softly. “Or not at all.”

His eyes narrowed, his expression hardened.

Angry? Determined? Ready to throw her away?

She couldn’t quite tell.

“Very well.”

_What?_ Eirwen blinked. “What?”

His mouth yanked sideways, his head tilted, and there was a cocky light to his eyes that she had never witnessed during all the months she’d known him. At least, she’d not seen it in this lifetime. “Did you expect I would say no?”

“I…” she trailed off. “Well… yes.”

He leaned forward, pulling her in as his mouth caught hers in a fierce kiss.

She leaned into him. His mouth drawing her in deeper, a continuation of what they’d begun in the tent. Performed without regard for whatever deceptions still lay between them. Her arm encircled his neck, his wrapped about her waist. His fingers moved into her hair. He swung her about, slamming her into rough bark. There was nothing gentle in the way he yanked her head back. Nothing gentle in the way her teeth seized his lip, or her nails dug into his neck.

He groaned and lifted her up, pelvis sliding between her legs. Her legs went about his hips.

His mouth dragged off hers, pressing hard kisses up her jaw and down her neck. Soft nips pinched the side of her throat. His fingers ground into her lower back. A warm, wet tongue sought out crevices and curves in soft skin.

Eirwen gasped. Her mouth brushing over his forehead, she squirmed against his pants. Somehow, her jacket slipped open, undone, exposing chest and stomach to cool air in the Emerald Graves. Rough calluses slid underneath the fabric, tracing up her spine.

Unhooking her legs, she slid to the ground. Her fingers ducking underneath the hem of his shirt, she ripped it free. Then, off went his undershirt while one hand of his opened her jacket. It hit the ground in a clatter of metal against fabric. His rough mouth found hers again, hands undoing her belt buckle, before sliding down to grasp her buttocks. He yanked her back to him. Skin to skin, their bodies clung together.

She felt him, lingering at the barriers protectively enclosed around her mind. His hand pressed to the wall. Her own mental fingers rose and rested on the other side, splayed to match. The last bit of hesitance left. She leaned close, pulsing in his bright glow. He held out the promise of honesty, an exchange of secrets. Open minds traveled two directions on the path, in and out. She swallowed. _The wolf is at the door, waiting to be let in._ “Fen…” the word escaped her as her back scraped against the bark.

“If you cannot be dissuaded,” he murmured against her lips, “then I will teach you.”

“What if I ask the same?” she replied. She felt his hips shift, fingertips sliding down her thigh to grip her knee. “Does the great Fen’Harel truly have nothing left to learn?”

He chuckled. _I am certain there is a great deal I might learn from you._

The thought caught upon the surface, skimming. Bright in its warmth. She shivered, her tongue slipping back between his lips. Her thigh lifted, leg hooking across his back. With a soft moan, she undid the locks.

His mouth closed on hers.

And he truly was inside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second half of the previous chapter and they ended up having to be split, which is why you're getting this one so quickly. It was mostly finished, I just needed to hammer out some extra connective tissue.
> 
> I don't know if Eirwen and Solas have smart or stupid arguments, but when you're angry... yeah. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. The telepathic elements that are getting incorporated are an aspect I really enjoy and, I don't know if I've said it before, but I really love the concept of thought police. I also like the idea that Arlathan had thought police and I really like 40k Inquisitors. The Ancient Elves pick up Exalted elements and Warhammer elements, so why not some 40k elements too? I've also been watching Sense8 on Netflix and it may be influencing me some...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	20. The Minds Share A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirwen and Solas grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** There's some sexual content in this chapter.

Eirwen’s head nestled on Solas’ shoulder. One arm stretched languidly across his chest. His skin warm beneath her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered, shifting slightly as she buried her nose in his collarbone. Lips tingling, she hid her face from the sun’s rays as it drifted into the tree line toward late afternoon.

Solas’ hand rested on her hair, fingertips tracing down fine strands. They stroked down her scalp, methodically, soothingly. His arm curved against her back, chin resting on her hair. She listened to his mental chuckle, felt it reverberate through her. The rumble of his chest against hers, the shiver of his sun warmed skin beneath her palm. Let the echo of it fill up her mind. The breadth and depth of his emotions came with each laugh now, each smirk, each smile. Warm and overflowing, it pooled inside her as all his restraint evaporated. The guilt stayed, remaining in nervous clusters at the edges. It bristled and poked, prodded and pushed, locking him down in a mire of pride, doubt, and even some self-loathing. Want and desire clashing with grief and responsibility to an ancient duty he had long left abandoned.

Lifting her chin, her lips traced up the line of his throat. _You do deserve happiness, Fen’Harel._

Ghostly hands moved down the back of her neck, sending a thrill up her spine. The sensation of his touch only in her mind, yet real, even arousing as he remained still in her arms. She felt his smile. Not one of triumph or success, but instead strangely relieved. A sudden of upsurge of guilt pricked him.

He paused.

_You say it without knowing all I have done,_ his voice whispered, lingering at the edges. The burning sensation of shame tightened in her gut. _This, our situation, it is all my doing._ His real arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. _Yet,_ he sighed, _I cannot deny I have also longed to hear those words._

Her mouth twitched on his neck.

His lips brushed across her hair.

_I know._

He chuckled.

Teeth closing on his ear, she gave him a gentle nip. Tucking up against the curve of his side, she inhaled deeply. The scent of the sun-warmed earth beneath her tingled in her nose, sharp and almost spicy. Distant staleness of smoke lingering in the trees, faded sweetness of purple flowers in the overhanging branches, he was all those smells and more. Through his nose, she found hers.

A tiny curl, faint among the drifting vegetation, it coiled around him. The traces of a sweet perfume, Josephine had given her. Imported from Val Royeaux, the taste of vanilla and sandalwood lingered on her tongue. It lay beneath a burnt stench. _Roasted flesh._

He rolled over onto her, mouth covering hers. His finger trailing over the curves of her palm. His free hand tracing down the line of her hip. She kissed him, and knew he felt it both ways. Passion flowing back and forth between them in a reverberating echo, crackling like a lightning strike. Her mental touch as real as the physical, becoming physical the deeper inside she slipped.

She moved over his skin and beneath it, inside it, giving him access to her memories.

His fingers slid over one closest to the surface, touching it lightly and gently as he might a page in a book. _Hmm,_ his voice rippled through her. _Upon closer inspection it is not entirely dissimilar to the Fade. More stimulating perhaps, but limited. We might have done this as a waking dream._

_Maybe next time,_ Eirwen murmured. _When we can afford to sleep._

_It may give the memory a more vivid life,_ he continued.

_Is that usually your answer when encountering new skills?_ Eirwen asked. Teeth closing on his lower lip, she drew it deeper into her mouth. Mental hands stroking down the back of his head, tracing the curve. _Mine is better?_

He snorted. _Oftentimes, yes, when the experience provides nothing new._

Laughing, Eirwen pulled him closer.

_Still,_ his tongue slipped between her lips, _I had no idea one could achieve such closeness or depth without either blood or copious amounts of lyrium._ A wet pulse warmed her mouth, spiked by hotter by his mental embrace.

_This is hardly intense._

_Holding back, vhenan?_

She let her nails drift down his spine as her back arched. _If you get it all upfront then what new territory will you have to discover?_

_Mmm,_ he paused. _An interesting observation, and, perhaps, one not entirely without merit._

_‘Not entirely’?_

Feather light kisses pressed to her throat, followed by a few sharp nips. He pulled her body to him, letting her curves shape to his harder edges. A smile brushed her skin. _Is that not what I said?_

_You’re terrible,_ she groaned, arm securing tightly around his back.

Seizing her chin between his teeth, he gave her an amused shake. _When left to my own devices, I confess I am pre-disposed toward a natural curiosity._ She felt his mind twitch, working. Focused on her as intensely as he might have over a fascinating tome or magical puzzle. A finger trailed down the memory, working out the scrawl.

Eirwen shivered. Tongue tracing her upper lip, she felt her hips tilt toward him.

Solas chuckled. _To make you mine with but a thought,_ his voice rippled and sent hot spasms shooting through her, _truly a marvelous gift._

A gasp escaped her, her back arched.

Teeth closed on her neck. _Allow me to think, vhenan._ His tongue swept the curve of her throat. _Ah, I see,_ one hand turned over a new thought, a new memory. He stroked it gently. _You wished to learn proper theory._

Her eyes squeezed shut. _Fen’Harel…_

_Certainly,_ his fingers moved down the inside of her leg, _I must warn you, vhenan. It will require a great deal of time and effort. Focus, I think. Our needed concentration shall be quite intense, necessitating a fine attention to detail._

_We’ll have to share minds often, then?_

_For the speed of learning you shall insist upon?_ His mouth moved back to her lips. _Constantly._

Her lips drew him down. _I think I’ll enjoy that._

His laugh reverberated inside her. _As do I._ He moved into a slow kiss, gentle and careful. Passionate in its own way, but hardly quick. A kiss designed to torment, to leave her insides aching. His tongue touched her lower lip, ready to slide into her mouth. Then, he paused. Stopped.

_Fen’Harel?_

His fingertips lingered on a moment inside her memory. One usually locked deep inside her mind and drawn close the surface by their sexual interactions. It often worked that way, successive chains linking one to another as new and relevant experiences brought them to light.

_Dirthamen’s priests trained you to seduce me._

Eirwen froze.

He frowned and, in her mind’s eye, she could see the chain of logic beginning to form. An underlying paranoia frightening in its intensity. The expectation of betrayal, the beginning pricks of fury, the worry that he might once again have been wrong, and shame in his own weakness. In leaving himself so exposed. Perhaps, she had not quite shed her previous life or those remaining orders as easily as she believed.

_Not just you,_ she thought quickly. Her thoughts reinforced by a warm surety of focus, opening access to the rest. _I was educated on the personal preferences of all the elven gods and their highest ranking retainers, in case specialized infiltration became necessary._

His hand settled on her chest.

She met his eyes. _Emotional needs and preferred contact,_ her head tilted, _intellectual needs,_ her lips twitched, _and_ _spiritual, all as important as the physical. Gifted with the best approaches, how one might appeal to each of them._ She swallowed. _All forms of infiltration, their weaknesses, in order to best manipulate or distract them._ Her head tilted. _Learned about their societies, the different social rituals, customs and habits among the followers of varying caste levels._ _More importantly, the lesser nobles and those who jockeyed for position or favor._

Investigation, interrogation, infiltration, seduction, she thought to herself, the list went on. All with the goal of transitioning seamlessly into any body she took control of.

_Any fool can puppeteer a few bodies with a little blood,_ Eirwen told him. _A master must be able to assume their lives and then leave them intact upon exit, utterly unaware anything strange occurred._ Though she could take control in a limited fashion, share a mind and experience the world through the eyes of a distant enemy, she wasn’t a master. Her true specialty had been less focused. _I never enjoyed harmonizing with my targets, or taking them into my mind._ She shivered. _I did though, sometimes, as they died._

_Dirthamen…_ Solas trailed off. _This is quite thorough, surprisingly so._ Another pause. _I knew he had access to many secrets, but never such a level of personal detail. It is… impressive and I imagine even within this knowledge, all you know merely scratches the surface._

_Yes, there was much he never shared with anyone and I wasn’t at the top of his list._ She slid out from the inward perspective and studied his eyes. _Caerina was supposed to do it with you._ At his flinch, she let long buried emotions swim to the surface. _She decided against it._ They were neither soothing nor gentle. Instead, they rushed through her in a hot and passionate burst. _Then, she fell for you._

His mental chuckle followed, tingling lips brushed down her neck. _Given his rather possessive nature, I am surprised Falon’din sent her to me._

Eirwen’s eyes closed. _This is not a conversation you want to have, Fen’Harel._

She felt him stiffen, felt him bite back a retort as he felt her concern. He softened, collecting her in his arms. A gentle hand stroked her hair and his lips pressed to her forehead. _Ir abelas, vhenan._ His murmur reverberated inside her heart. _In curiosity, it is easy to forget. You lived this as well._

_What greater thrill is there than in the knowledge of your own superiority?_ Her thoughts filtered through her mind. _He had no fear any would know me better and setting me to such tasks merely confirmed it._ She swallowed. _Sometimes, I think he took more pleasure in how much better he was for me than he did my company._ Her eyes closed and she squelched several unpleasant memories down, even as he reached for them. _He… he preferred it when others left me dissatisfied._

_Falon’din enjoyed it. Caerina. Our meeting, it was intended to be a game._

Her eyelids flickered and she opened them to find him staring intently into hers. “Yes.”

_A means for him to exert his superiority over all those he viewed as rivals._

Her lips twitched. _Not quite._

“Vhenan,” he said. His voice filled her ears and he pulled out, receding gradually from her mind. Slowly. Regret tinged his thoughts, regret mixed with some irritation. One warm hand pushed back her bangs.

Relaxing back into the grass, Eirwen closed her eyes. “Mmm?”

“We must talk.”

“I don’t want to fight again,” she said.

His lips brushed her cheek. “That is not my intent.”

“It could be the result,” Eirwen replied.

Laughter shook the air beside her ear, a wet grin pulling against her damp skin. She wondered if he’d tried to stop himself. His chest pressed to her breasts, thigh between her legs. Shoulders shaking as all his tension came loose. A free laugh without restraint or fear.

Her fingertip traced the length of his spine as she hid a smile of her own against his collarbone.

“As always,” Solas said. “You do yourself credit.”

She rolled her eyes. “For what?”

“For accurately predicting unavoidable outcomes,” he replied.

Eirwen lifted an eyebrow. “They’re entirely avoidable.”

“If one can see the chain leading them toward the edge.”

“I have a hard time believing many people wouldn’t notice when their cart is racing off a cliff.”

“Many have no wish to see it,” he replied. “They see only what they expect, rather than searching for the underlying truth.”

She snorted. “When you see it becomes a choice rather than an accident. You can try to pull up or avert your course, but if you choose to jump then you can only blame yourself when you hit nothing but rock.”

“You possess a marvelous clarity.” He chuckled, lips pressing to her brow. “Others would merely blame their fall upon the very same ground and curse the sky for not warning them.”

Shaking her head, Eirwen sighed. “You’re praising me for being paranoid?” She lifted her chin, mouth quirking into a small smile. “I can’t quite tell if that’s a compliment.”

“Paranoia?” he smiled. “No.” With his right thumb and forefinger, he tweaked her nose. “This attempt at modesty would do you credit,” he dropped lower, “if I did not already know it was based in a desire to avoid praise.”

Eirwen rolled her eyes.

His lips brushed over her mouth. “Merely placing trust in your own intuition, accompanied by a desire to seek out what others do not believe is not there, to look and to wonder, but never confront. You sought me with patience and no small amount of kindness. Your suspicion was not based in hate, nor did it arouse fear. You have never trusted me, not truly. Yet, you also harbored no malice.”

“We all have secrets,” she said. “I can hardly blame you for an action I perform regularly.”

“I see that now,” Solas said. “Even when you let me inside your mind, it was an act of faith rather than surety in my intentions.”

“That can’t be surprising,” she said. Her head tilted, watching him study her. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“No.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “What surprised me is you did at all, today you have trusted me and allowed me to see you.” Chuckling, he tilted his head. “I believed you had no knowledge of my true self, while you were barely a breath from the truth.” A warm, fond smile played on his mouth. “Humbling in its own way, to think I had played my game so well only to be nearly undone by the very woman I thought to fool.”

Her thumb coursed along his cheek. “You’re giving me too much credit, you know.”

“It was only a matter of time, vhenan.” He captured his fingers with his hand, pressing a dry kiss to the inside of her palm. “You suspected, perhaps only a small portion of it, long before our accidental journey into the prison.” His eyes narrowed speculatively. “I believe it began during our first real conversation at Haven.”

“I thought you didn’t fit with what I’d seen,” Eirwen replied. “And you weren’t alone, either.”

“True,” he agreed. “You were suspicious of everyone and, given your position, it was to be expected.” He smiled. “Regardless, as time went on, as we established a bond with one another through our journey, I expected you would come to trust me.”

Sighing, she let her hand slip up the back of his neck and took the tip of his ear between forefinger and thumb. She gave it a light tweak. “I did.”

“Yet, those initial suspicions about my origins were never allayed. They only grew over time.”

“I knew you were lying,” Eirwen replied. “I just didn’t know about what. Your intentions were real, but you weren’t connected with the world around you. The details didn’t fit together into anything coherent.” Her fingertips swept down his cheek. “I’d never met anyone like you. You were a mystery, I wanted to discover…” she trailed off, her thumb brushing over his lower lip, “everything. The truth, maybe. You.” Her eyes found his. “The real you, somewhere underneath all the rest of it.” She smiled. “I did see flashes of him, you know. Every so often.”

His eyes warmed.

“Besides.” Biting her lip, she swallowed. “It’s possible to love someone, even believe in them, without trusting them.” The words came quickly, now there was little reason to hold them back. Her own irritation, her worries, her fears about what had existed in those hidden spaces those filtered through them. She inhaled a deep breath. “You were _lying_ to me, Fen’Harel, more importantly you were holding back. Picked me up, put me down, and, at the edges, I always could feel something deeper lurking beneath the surface. Honesty somewhere in the hypocrisy.” Her hand cradled his head. “You seemed so lonely. I know what it feels like to be lost and in pain, with no one trying to understand.”

A frown creased his brow as a wondering finger curved her chin. His smile grew a little fainter, a little sadder, and she felt the weight of it bear down on him.

“I wanted to help you,” she said. “I still do.”

His eyes tightened. “Do not ask that of me, vhenan.”

“Istimaethoriel says there is understanding in shared pain,” Eirwen said. “We are unified by similar experiences.” She smiled. “I don’t know if I could’ve understood you before all this happened, but I think it’s a little clearer now.”

A faint smile curved his mouth and his eyes closed. Finally, he sighed. The tension returned, caught up in his shoulders. His body tightened as he rolled off her to land heavily on his side. Then, he fell onto his back. Eyes locked on the sky overhead. “You have such a kindness and generosity of spirit,” he said in a soft voice. “I will not see it destroyed, not for my sake nor any other's.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” she replied.

Solas glanced at her.

_Fen’Harel,_ her fingers interlocked with his and she tucked herself against his side. _I don’t need your permission._ Her lips pressed to his shoulder. _But, I’d like your consent._

His smile grew a little wider, quirking up the right side of his face. Left hand curved around her shoulders and he pulled her closer, so they were back where they’d begun. “You will wish you hadn’t,” he said in a very soft voice.

“Maybe,” she replied, her chin lifted. “It’s still my decision.”

Solas sighed. “That is true.”

“You jump,” Eirwen said. “I jump.”

“You remain…” he exhaled heavily, “infuriating.” He rolled back onto his side, leaned in, and yanked her against him. Mouth catching hers in a deep, long kiss. _Like a pair of fools,_ his voice reverberated in her mind. _We shall fall together._

_Well,_ she thought. _Where would I go except home?_

His feelings surrounded her and drew her down, ready to start again.

 

***

 

One hand lifted over his eyes, Iron Bull watched the final group of refugees make their way up the road. Most had come through the experience relatively unharmed. Physically, at least. He didn’t doubt the emotional trauma would remain with them for many decades to come. Between Varric and Cole, they’d been easy enough to pack up. Most were capable of traveling and set on the right path in a matter of hours. The flightiest put under the command of those more responsible and capable of organizing large groups. Predominantly those farmer’s wives, schoolmarms, and Chantry lay brothers that the Templars seemed to have a special affinity for.

They’d lost Cole about halfway through.

As the odd men out, he and Harel had remained mostly on the sidelines. Harel fixing up supplies, even jury rigging together pieces to fix one of the Templar’s supply wagons. Irritating, but necessary. The average villagers in Orlais lived in terror of both the Qunari and the Dalish.

“And there goes the last of them,” Varric said.

“Yeah,” he said.

They both glanced at each other.

_We’re testy allies at best,_ Bull thought. With Varric’s deep dislike of the Qunari, it was possible they’d never be more than they were now. Still, there was one thing they could both agree on. “Inquisitor is still down for the count.”

“Or busy,” Varric replied. “Feel easier about this if Solas were here.”

“C’mon, Varric,” Bull said. “You and me? We can handle one Dalish elf.”

The dwarf sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We’ll never get a better chance than now, anyway.”

Their gazes both swung back to the elf on the far side of camp. Kneeling on one knee, his focus entirely on reattaching some piece to the undercarriage of the surviving carts. His face entirely hidden by his blue hood, managing to look conspicuous even in his Scout gear.

“You sure he can’t hear us?” Varric asked.

“I told you,” Bull replied. “Old Ben’Hassrath technique, can’t hear a thing.”

Together, they started forward across the camp.

“Hey, Bird Boy!” Varric yelled. “We’d like a word before heading back!”

Harel rose, laying his wrench on the cart’s bed. His head turned. Showing only a long, pale profile beneath a flop of black hair. His visible iris swung to watch them. A slight smile curved his mouth.

Then, he tucked behind his back and spun to face them.

_Like some kind of grown ass child-man._

“What do you need, Varric?”

“Look, Bird Boy,” Varric said. “Cut the crap. We’ve both noticed how much closer you’ve gotten to the Inquisitor.”

“So,” Bulls said. “We have some questions to ask you.”

“We don’t want any trouble,” Varric added.

Bull stepped forward. One hand seizing the haft of his axe. There was just something about this guy… something that wasn’t right. “But,” he said. “We’re getting a straight answer right now, when there’s no boss to hide behind.”

“It’s a shame,” Harel said. “I hoped this would be unnecessary.”

His good eye narrowed. _No good. Gotta move quickly before he reacts._ His weapon came off his back and smoothly into both hands.

Harel’s brows lifted, just a small fraction.

Bull brought the axe down, straight down. _Right onto his cocky head._

It slammed into the earth with a spray of dirt, launching fallen leaves and grass into the air.

_No blood though._

He looked down.

Harel had not moved. Instead, one hand rested flat against the axe. His head turned, eyes on it. Not fear. Instead, his features formed an amused expression.

_What?_

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” he said. “The spirit of a great beast confined to such a small frame, morphed and molded by ages of careful, selective breeding.” Harel’s voice carried no real sense of admiration or pleasure, only vague disinterest. “Your blood. It’s meant to make you powerful.” Fingertips traced up the blade’s curved edge. “Instead,” empty black eyes flicked up, “it leaves you vulnerable.”

Bull’s hands clenched around the haft of his axe, tried to lift his arms. Nothing. _My body._ The thought spiked through his brain. _It won’t move._

“I’ll admit, I expected the durgen’len to be the quickest draw.” Harel’s eyebrows lifted. He tapped the blade. “Good to know, eh?” Mouth quirking into a smile, his head tilted. “That you like to go first.” He chuckled. A dry sound, friendly. Comforting. “Or,” he paused. Then, his eyes swung left and Bull felt his head turned to follow the elf’s gaze.

There was Varric, twenty paces to the right. One hand on a crossbow only half-drawn, he stood stock still. Arm lifted over his shoulder, elbow pointed at the blue sky overhead. A pair of glassy blue eyes stared straight ahead. “Bartrand,” the name slipped off his lips. His mouth moved and more words should have followed with them, instead Bull heard only the birds singing from nearby trees.

Bull forced his good eye to slide back to the Dalish spy, though his head refused to move with it.

“Really, that the children of the stone have grown susceptible to mental manipulation.” One hand tucked behind Harel’s back. “More the pity.” Mouth twitching down, expression almost… sorrowful. Regretful, even. “It used to require a great deal more effort.”

Iron Bull gritted his teeth. _You bastard._ Harel was a mage, had to be. _Just like a damned Vint._ Only a blood mage possessed this level of control over another’s body. _Not letting any blood mage stop me. Not letting any demon possess me._ One could will their way through mind control, through any kind of domination.

Strain caught him across the shoulders.

The eyes slid back. “Such a rigid mental discipline you Qunari possess.” Harel’s smile widened. “Commendable.”

Bull’s body buckled, muscles rippled, his arms bulging. He exploded outward.

His good eye widened. Locked on the short elf.

_Suddenly he seems so much smaller… almost bite size._

The elf… Bull’s mind worked. It… it didn’t hurt. Felt good. His blood boiling, spoiling for a fight, and he saw red. The elf faded in his mind’s eye. He wanted to fly. Test his wings. Chase his way back to those refugees. Carve his way through them, heart content in the music of their screams. Bury his teeth in their insides.

His shoulder blades jerked.

“Ah, pleasure. You’re pleased,” Harel said. “I’d wondered at your mental limits. It is good to feel those more troublesome emotions fluctuating inside that tightly knit mind.” His index finger moved. “You may speak now. No one will hear if you yell.”

“Damn…” the words escaped Bull’s lips slowly. _This what the Tal Vashoth feel?_ “Bastard. What’re you…”

“I merely harmonized my energy with the latent magic flowing in your blood, accessing your potential.” His mouth twitched. “The true shape this body seeks to have.”

Iron Bull’s head snapped back, mouth opening to scream. Transformed into a roar. A heavy tongue traced over sharp teeth. They swelled in size, elongating, jostling as they fought along his gums for new positions. Pain lanced through his jaw. Bones shifting, jutting out against sinew and muscle, moving beneath his skin.

“Fear is the pathway to the mind, Iron Bull.”

Bull’s gut knotted. Eye squeezed shut. He thrashed against Harel’s grip.

Fingers slipped underneath the surface. A touch so deft and light, he wasn’t even sure he felt it.

_I’m not…_ the thought slid from a distant corner. _Not unless he wants me to._

“Don’t worry,” Harel said. “I am not cruel. This shall pass in a few moments, never to be remembered or discovered by other intrusive minds. Our interaction is simply preparation for the battle that is to come.”

Darkness surrounded Bull’s mind. Grasped his ankle. Dragged him down.

“All pieces have their proper place.” The distant voice crept in at the edges, spoken with a gentle smile. “In time, you will discover yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I keep saying we're hitting the homestretch but we're definitely hitting it's stride now. Solas and Eirwen are not cooperating, really. They're not staying in their assigned zones. That's okay, you know. I think it's better this way.
> 
> And cute cuddles! Lots of stuff! Eirwen finally getting the moment I've wanted to have with Solas since the game ended. Someone has to say, "my choice". I dunno, I'm starting to think he really loves her. That's probably a good thing.
> 
> Harel... well... we all saw that coming didn't we? Don't worry. I'm sure we were all wondering what exactly had happened to Varric and Iron Bull.
> 
> We'll find out!
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> So are those two Fear and Deceit? Is really Dirthamen out? Or is he just awake? Is it just a dream? What is going on!
> 
> I'm not sure. I've had this idea tickling me for a while. I have more written than what I've posted. This is actually a multi-chapter fic, one more likely to end up novella lengthy-ish, or as a collection of loose short stories that may link in with my other various fics or it may not. I don't know. This one may drift off canon. Be warned!
> 
> If you've read my other story "The Halla and the Wolf", you'll note I mentioned that Eirwen was dedicated to Mythal. Upon returning to her file, I realized she's not as she doesn't share any of the variations of Abelas' tattoo markings. After reviewing several different guides I discovered she's actually dedicated to _Dirthamen_. Surprise! Since there is no official chart, I'm actually still guessing off comparisons between the old tattoos and the new ones. Dirthamen and Mythal's tattoos are very similar, they both look like trees. I decided I might just go with that because it makes more sense for her as a character.
> 
> Not much is known about the Ancient elves, but there's a lot of mythology regarding ravens from cultures all over the world. Different mythologies from Europe discuss ravens eating the eyes of the dead to steal their memories. Odin in Norse Mythology is usually accompanied by his two ravens, Hugin and Mugin who are themselves minor gods. In Celtic mythology, they are symbols of war, strife, and other things. It was said the war goddess, the Morrigan appeared in the form a raven. Ravens and other carrion birds are said to carry the voices/souls of the dead on their wings as they pass between our world and the underworld.
> 
> Shades of that will probably filter in. I hope you enjoy!


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